


Bright Horizons

by TheStoriesWontStop



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 13:30:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 65,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStoriesWontStop/pseuds/TheStoriesWontStop
Summary: Captain Wentworth told Anne he had considered contacting her after two years, after he had acquired wealth and success in the Navy. What if events conspired to reunite them after just two years?





	1. Breakup

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted this story on FanFiction.net, and am adding it here. It's rather lengthy, so I'm pulling the chapters in first, and will go in and edit them for formatting and such once they're all here. Thanks for bearing with me during the process. And, as ever, thank you for any and all comments -- feedback from readers is food for the soul!

She watched him storm away, his harsh words still reverberating in her mind. He had every right to his anger. She was certain he felt ill-used and rightfully so. She had rejected his proposal of marriage – an illogical action when love was the only factor in considering a life together. But love alone did not stand up to the weight of Lady Russell's repeated arguments. Anne could not find fault with any of Lady Russell's statements, but for the fact that love and happiness were not considerations.

"Love and happiness do not provide food, shelter, or clothing, my dear," Lady Russell had stated firmly, but gently. "You must consider the facts and allow your head, not your heart, to guide your decision."

Frederick had proposed and had been accepted four weeks ago. Her father had neither approved nor disapproved of the engagement, though he obviously looked upon Frederick's profession with scorn and disdain. Anne had told her mother's friend, Lady Russell, about the pending marriage about two weeks ago. She looked to Lady Russell for counsel and advise in the stead of her mother who had passed away several years ago. Lady Russell had been her mother's dearest friend, and Anne trusted her implicitly.

Each day since being informed of Anne's engagement, Lady Russell arrived for a morning visit, as was her habit, and then engaged Anne in helping her with a task or errands. One afternoon, they designed a new section in Lady Russell's garden. Another day, they selected and were fitted for new dresses. Subsequently, Anne was left with very little time to spend with Frederick. She had the feeling that if she could just see him, talk about this with him, then together they could figure it out. But she was alone, with only Lady Russell to guide her, and the obvious decision was looming over her and growing insurmountably large. She knew what she must do, but it felt wrong, so wrong. She was so mired in logical arguments and her feelings about them and the internal struggle between what she ought to do and what she wanted to do that she could barely even think of anything at all, much less make sense of anything anymore.

And time was running short. Frederick would soon be called back to his ship, his shore leave over, and assigned back out to sea for an as yet undetermined amount of time.

One Thursday morning, five days before Frederick was due to return to port, Anne was lost within her thoughts and not attending to Lady Russell during their daily morning visit.

"Anne, do you understand me? Anne!"

Anne was jolted back to the present at Lady Russell's emphatic tone. "I am sorry. I was lost in thought. Would you mind repeating that? I did not hear it all."

Lady Russell pursed her lips in displeasure, an action so quick, Anne wondered if she had seen it at all. "As I was saying," Lady Russell began gathering her belongings, "I have an appointment today and shall not be requiring your company. I have therefore taken the liberty of inviting Commander Wentworth for a morning visit."

Anne gave a startled breath, excitement beginning to well inside her.

"You will, of course, use this opportunity to break things off," Lady Russell continued, ignoring Anne's reaction.

"But, I was hoping to—"

"Anne. It is a match unworthy of a young woman of your station. Shall I review?

"He has no money, no lodgings, and no means of supporting a family much less a wife. He has no connections and no guarantees of a successful career in the Navy without them. He must marry someone with the connections and money he needs to provide him the proper opportunities necessary to improve his situation, and, despite your social standing, you can not provide the connections he needs."

Anne was fighting tears. "I know all this to be true. But I was thinking – hoping – perhaps … a compromise… somehow …" Anne's voice trailed away at Lady Russell's withering glare.

Lady Russell stood. "Anne, for his own sake, you must end this affair. If he is to succeed in his chosen career, he cannot marry you." She bent to kiss Anne's cheek. "I know it is a difficult thing to do, but you will soon recover. The perfect match for you is certainly just around the corner." She walked to the door. "I shall see you tomorrow, dear." She opened the double doors to the parlor and was met by the butler, with Commander Wentworth right behind him. "Ah," she turned. "Anne, the Commander is here." She gave him a dismissive glance and left. "My wrap, please, Channing."

Frederick watched her exit with distaste. He really could not find it in him to like that woman. He wasn't entirely certain, but something made him feel Lady Russell was behind the scarcity of Anne's presence in his life over the past two weeks. He entered the parlor, a warm smile on his face. How he'd missed her!

His good mood shattered as his mind caught up with the scene before his eyes. Anne was sitting with a cup and saucer in her hands, frozen in the act of lifting the cup to her lips for a sip. Her skin had lost all color and her eyes were wide and unseeing, staring at the door Lady Russell had just gone through. Her breath came with difficulty in small, rapid gasps.

"Anne!" he quickly knelt before her and gently removed the dishes from her frozen fingers. "Anne!" he rubbed her hands, trying to warm them and distract her from her shocked state. "Anne?" he whispered, becoming quite alarmed. He placed his palm on her cheek and trailed his fingers to the back of her neck. "Anne, sweetheart. Come back to me."

She slowly brought her gaze in to focus on his face, though her eyes remained wide with that terrified expression that was creating no small amount of panic within himself. She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. When tears welled over and traced wet paths down her face, he had enough. As improper as it might be, he scooped her up and moved to a loveseat where they might sit together. He kept her in his lap, holding her closely as she silently sobbed her grief into his shoulder.

He did not know what had happened to cause her such emotional pain, but he had a feeling he was not going to like it. Anne was a calm, level-headed girl. He'd seen her keep her wits about her when everyone else was fretful and panicked. For her to lose her composure so completely – it had to be something quite extreme and out of the ordinary. He could not imagine what it was. He was predisposed to disliking anything that upset Anne. His goal was, after all, to perfect her life in any way that he could. But something was making him feel that whatever it was that had upset Anne so completely was also going to be unpleasant for him as well. He was not looking forward to Anne's explanation of her state for all that he wanted her feeling better soon.

When at last her sobs quieted, he asked, "Anne, dearest, please tell me what has you so distraught."

Her response was to bury her face more deeply into his shoulder and cling more tightly to the lapels of his coat.

He hugged her closer. "Please, sweetheart. I am quite concerned. I do not like seeing you this way. Share your sorrow so that I might help you overcome it."

"I cannot—"she whimpered into his chest.

"Come, now. Surely you know you can tell me anything. Nothing you say can alter my feelings for you." He kissed the top of her head.

"I fear that might not be true." She looked up at him, fresh tears streaming from her eyes. "Just, please, remember that you have my heart. I can never love anyone else as I love you." She pressed a light kiss to his lips.

Just then the doors to the parlor were flung open and Elizabeth burst in. "Oh, there you are Anne. Has Lady Russell left yet, do you know? I need her to help me with –" She stopped abruptly, her eyebrows raising at the intimate way Frederick was holding Anne. "Commander," she greeted him coldly. She turned to Anne. "Do get on with it, Anne," she demanded impatiently. "Lady Russell told me you were to break off with the Commander today, and I do need your opinion on my new roses and where to place them in the garden. Has she left yet? I don't see her here, so I suppose she has. Let me see if I can catch her …" She breezed out of the room as quickly as she had flown in.

There was absolute silence in the room for several moments as the occupants fully comprehended what had just been said. Anne was mortified at her sister's behavior, and felt that Elizabeth had been deliberately cruel. Elizabeth never requested Anne's advice on anything, much less her prized rose garden. Anne felt Frederick stiffen. She hastened to explain the plan she had tentatively devised over the past several days. "Frederick, please let me—"

"You are to break it off with me." He removed her from his lap and stood. "I see. I am a mere naval officer, not worthy enough to marry a daughter of a baronet, of the esteemed Sir Walter Elliot." He walked to a window and looked out, not seeing anything but his anger, not feeling anything but his heart breaking.

"Frederick, I apologize for my sister's actions. I was going to tell you—"

"Tell me what?" He turned to glare at her.

She flinched.

"Tell me that you denounce our love, reject our engagement? Tell me, Anne, did you even love me at all? Or were you toying with my affections? The daughter of a gentleman having a little fun with a working man before heading on to better prospects?"

"Frederick, no!" Anne protested. "I love you. I—"

"And this is how you show your love," he sneered. "You—" he looked up and saw the butler and a maid peering in through the doors that Elizabeth had left open. "If you have any desire to continue this conversation, ma'am, I shall await you in the garden." He gave her a curt bow, and then marched through the French door that opened to the yard and pathway that led to their favorite garden.

Anne looked over at the servants who were peering in worry at her. She gave them a shaky smile of reassurance, then slowly rose and followed in Frederick's wake. He was out of her sight already, but she knew which garden he had chosen. She smiled a bittersweet smile. As angry as he was right now, he still thought of her, of the place she liked most. It was their favorite one.

She remembered giving him a tour of the grounds on one of their first forays together. Was it really only six or seven weeks ago? Kellynch had several gardens, including a meticulous rose garden maintained by her sister Elizabeth, an orchard playing host to several varieties of fruit trees and berry shrubs, a small grape arbor, a vegetable garden, and a walking path rambling through seven or eight smaller flower gardens. After seeing them all, Frederick had requested another visit to each garden before declaring the one filled with daisies, primroses, violets, black-eyed Susans as his favorite one.

Anne had glowed with pride. She had designed the walking path and all of its gardens, and her personal favorites were the daisies. She had included a bed filled with nothing but daisies in every color and type that she could find. "I cannot explain why I am so fond of them," she responded to Frederick's query. "I just love all the colors and that they always look happy and cheerful. Nothing, I think, could ever be sad to a daisy."

He had chuckled and picked the largest one he could find – a beautiful, pristinely white Shasta daisy – and presented it to her. "Miss Anne, you are a delight. I hope you are ever like a daisy, and that you never experience shadows on your happiness."

She accepted the flower with a shy smile and blush. "Thank you, sir. But I fear just such a shadow has begun to form on my horizon."

"Do not let it be so!" he exclaimed. "Tell me of this threat that I may vanquish it for you."

"Tis you," she smiled up at him.

"I?" His brow raised in astonishment.

"Yes. You are here but temporarily and I have begun to find that thought to be disagreeable." She blushed again at her boldness.

Momentarily stunned by her words, Frederick could only stare at her in wonder before a grin lit his face. "Miss Anne," he bowed over her hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, "might I be permitted to agree with your feelings? I, too, have come to realize that my eventual return to sea will not be as easy a departure as I believed it would be when I arrived." He had not released her hand, and now twisted his own to hold hers and pull her more closely to him. "Perhaps we could find a way to banish these dark thoughts from our minds? Together?"

She nodded. "I should like that very much," she whispered.

He grinned – oh, how she loved his smile! – and tucked her arm snugly into his and they finished their afternoon together walking the path that ran through Anne's gardens.

Anne was not so hopeful that this visit to their garden would be as sublime, though she was certain it was likely to be equally as unforgettable. She approached the garden slowly and placed herself on a bench, hoping, she supposed, to go unnoticed. It was a nonsensical wish, as Frederick was always aware of her presence, and this moment was no exception. He paused in his frenetic pacing around the flower beds. He glowered at her.

She lowered her gaze to her lap.

"Oh, no," he growled. "You look at me when you break my heart!"

She winced.

"For that is what you are about to do, is it not?"

She silently pleaded with him for understanding.

"No!" he snarled. "My departure is dependent upon your command. A word from you and I shall never darken even your farthest horizon ever again."

"Please allow me to explain—"

"Explain what?" his pacing resumed. "Are you able to provide a reason why you would take the love I offer and toss it to the ground to be trod upon? Is there an explanation for tossing my heart against the garden wall so that it shatters into pieces among the weeds and stones? Tell me, Anne. Tell me why you will not be marrying me."

Anne's composure was quickly slipping once again under the brute strength of his anger. "My mother died … Lady Russell has been … she explained about—"

"So I have Lady Russell to thank for this, do I? I suppose she is also responsible for seeing that you have been busy each afternoon for the past two weeks as well?"

Anne could only nod.

"Well," he sneered sarcastically, "please convey my respects to the honorable Lady Russell," he sneered her name in a mocking tone, "and let her know how much I appreciate her assistance in the matter of arranging my life."

"Frederick, please. Let me tell you—"

"Anne, I do not think I can bear to hear you tell me you cannot love me."

"But, I do!"

"Then how can you break off our engagement so handily?"

"I do not!"

"That is not how it appears."

She glanced around the garden, searching for the right words.

"Anne, tell me now. Do you have any desire to be my wife?"

"Of course, I do. It is what I most long for."

"Then will you go with me now? This instant. We will elope to Gretna Green and be wed before I go to sea."

"But, Frederick, I have thought of—"

"Do you go with me now?"

"But I can't—"

"Anne, if you do not go with me now, I will understand that you will not desire to be with me. Ever. I will be gone from your life. It will be as you wish."

"But I don't—" Her mind was shutting down. The world was beginning to spin. Her heart was beating so hard it threatened to stop altogether. Her breaths came in short gasps. Tears overflowed her eyes unchecked. How could this be happening? Why was Frederick behaving thusly? He was threatening to leave her? But why? Would he not just let her explain, help her work out the details of the compromise? Hadn't he told her of his friend, Thomas Harville, who had met his Millie, and asked her to wait? Could not she and Frederick wait for just a year or two until he was more established?

Frederick did not allow himself to be persuaded by her obvious distress. The pain of his breaking heart was overruling his passion for her, his desire to never see her in distress or pain. That she was obviously upset was just and fitting for the torture she was inflicting upon him. He hardened his jaw, and presented his offer one last time. "Anne, do you come with me now? Do you come with me to be my wife?"

She lifted her tearstained face to him, his words echoing in her mind. "Frederick, I want to—"

"But you will not." He nodded. "So be it." He bowed formally to her. "I have enjoyed our times together Miss Elliot. I shall look back upon most of them with fondness. If you will please excuse me, I must be returning to my ship. I shall take up no more of your time." He bowed again, turned, and left, leaving his heart in her hands. He would never love another, he knew instinctively. He just wished he knew why she had spurned him. Stoically, he got through a couple more days visiting with his brother before Edward sent him back to his ship with a worried heart and the promise of prayers.

Anne sat immobile on the bench, her mind unable to take in the magnitude of what had just happened. Had Frederick just left her permanently? Would she never see him again? He thought she did not love him? How had he arrived at that conclusion? Why did he not let her tell him of her plan? She loved him. When he left, he took her heart with him. She could not conceive of ever loving another man. Why had he spurned her so vehemently?

Her mind tumbled these thoughts about until she could no longer bear the pain they inflicted. Her heart was gone. She could not breathe. Her muscles could no longer support her. She tumbled off the bench, making no move to protect herself or stop her fall. Her head grazed the iron side of the bench, slicing a gash over her eyebrow. It bled, unchecked, into her hair and down her forehead. She lay motionless, staring straight ahead, her inner being completely turned off as her body struggled to remember how to breathe on its own again.

Several hours later, the family gave no thought as to why Anne was not present for dinner.

"She was to break it off with the Commander today, father," Elizabeth informed Sir Walter as she tried to decide between pudding or cake for dessert. "She is likely moping up in her room as she fancied herself in love with him." She placed both a pudding and a slice of cake on her dessert plate.

"The Commander?" Sir Walter inquired. "That naval chap? Oh, surely she could have done better than that."

"Of course, father, that's why she was to break it off. Did you hear what happened with the Gottschalks this afternoon in town?"

"No," he responded with glee, anxious to hear the juicy gossip. "Do tell!"

An hour or so later the chief gardener burst through the kitchen door.

"Amos, get yourself out, you're dripping rain all over my clean floor!"

"Abby, dearest, get Mrs. Tompkins, quick!" he stayed in the doorway, but did not move out.

Responding to the urgency in his voice, Abby ran down the hall to the housekeeper's office. "What is it Abby?" Mrs. Tompkins asked calmly when Abby burst through the door.

"It's Amos, ma'am. Something's terrible wrong, I just know it. Sent me for you, he did."

Mrs. Tompkins rose and followed Abby back to the kitchen.

"Amos, what is it?"

"You gotta come, Mrs. Tompkins, I don't know what to do."

"Amos, it's pouring rain."

"She ain't movin', ma'am. I don't reckon she's dead, but she ain't movin'!"

Abby choked back her scream at Mrs. Tompkins's glare. "We will not panic just because Amos has found something alarming." Mrs. Tompkins met the eyes of each of the staff still at work in the kitchen. "Neither will any of you be spreading word of this until we know what exactly is going on. Does everyone understand me?"

Four mute heads nodded their agreement.

"Now, Amos, let us go and see to your discovery."

She followed Amos to the garden where she allowed herself to let out a cry of dismay at the soggy, frozen form of Miss Anne, laying on the garden path. She ran her hands over Anne, looking for injuries, gasping when she saw the nasty cut over Anne's eye. "Oh, my word, Amos. She's been out here for hours. We've got to get her inside. Go get Pete. Hurry!"


	2. After Effects

Pete, the undergardener, carried Anne into the house through the kitchen and up the back stairs to her bedroom. Mrs. Tompkins called Nelly, an upstairs maid and her longtime friend, to help her with Anne. Nelly sent for a hot bath to be prepared and brought upstairs. Together, housekeeper and maid peeled off Anne's sodden clothing, wrapped her in blankets, and laid her on the couch they had Pete position in front of the fire. While Mrs. Tompkins tried to rouse Anne, Nelly gathered the soggy garments and sent them downstairs in one of the empty bath buckets with instructions to have them laundered the next day.

Mrs. Tompkins and Nelly maneuvered the still unresponsive Anne into the tub. The warmth pinkened Anne's skin, but she still stared blankly at nothing. Despite the heat of the water, Anne began to shiver.

"Mercy me, she's contracting a fever," Nelly muttered.

"I fear you're right, Nelly," Mrs. Tompkins agreed worriedly. She gave a deep sigh, deciding the best course of action. "Well, let's get her settled in bed. Then you sit with her while I go inform Sir Walter."

Once Anne was settled as well as comfortably as they could arrange it, Mrs. Tompkins headed down the stairs. She had a soft spot for Anne, a sweet girl, so courteous to everyone, and genuinely curious about everything. Her loving nature and patience with everyone made her a favorite among the staff. None of them could comprehend how Sir Walter could overlook his middle daughter as severely as he did.

Mrs. Tompkins had often thought that if Anne were to suddenly disappear, Sir Walter might never know the difference, except that Anne kept the household running smoothly and the creditors at bay. But it was possible that Sir Walter did not know about that as it was technically Elizabeth's duty, as mistress of the house, to oversee all household affairs. But Elizabeth willingly allowed Anne to take on such tasks in favor of her more favored pursuits of visiting, shopping, and tending her roses; though she was perfectly willing to accept credit for Anne's successes. And young Mary, away at school at the moment, in her bid not to be overlooked by her father, quite overshadowed Anne with her outspoken ways and acts and declarations of imagined illness, taxing Anne with her demands for Anne's attention and placating ways. Through it all, Anne was stoic, competent, and uncomplaining.

And what thanks did she get, Mrs. Tompkins wanted to know. The first man she meets that is her intellectual equal – a learned, thinking man, who saw through to Anne's inner self and realized the beauty that she was, inside and out, and adored her for it – and would love and cherish Anne for all the rest of her days … they demanded that she cast him aside. And Anne had tried. But in their conversations over tea, Anne had confided to Mrs. Tompkins that it did not feel right. Elopement was not a good and proper choice, but neither could Anne defy her family's wishes. Mrs. Tompkins had suggested that perhaps a compromise was in order.

Anne had looked startled, as if it had never occurred to her to find a middle ground between her desires and her family's demands. She smiled, a small smile that grew as it lit her from within. "Compromise, Mrs. Tompkins? Perhaps …" Mrs. Tompkins could see Anne's mind spinning with the possibilities. "Yes. I believe you are right. Mrs. Tompkins, you are an absolute scholar!" Anne had jumped up from her seat, pressed a kiss to Mrs. Tompkins's cheek, and fled to her garden, where she did her best thinking.

Mrs. Tompkins touched the spot Anne had kissed. It really was most improper for the master's daughter to behave in such a manner with the servants. She shook her head and smiled. But really, if not for the servants, Miss Anne would not have anyone who noticed her at all, so perhaps it was not so unusual. Mrs. Tompkins gathered the tea things on a tray to take back to the kitchen. As she stood, she noticed a tall figure striding across the lawn. A closer look through the curtains revealed it was Commander Wentworth. Her smile widened. It was not only the servants who saw Anne, she surmised. The bond between Anne and the Commander was as strong as it had been quick. They had not been in each other's company more than two or three times before it became obvious that they were destined for each other. Obvious to anyone who cared about Anne, that is – which excluded most of those who ran in her circles. Perhaps a few wishful mothers noticed that the Commander's attention was not on their daughters, but that was all.

Ignoring the dishes, Mrs. Tompkins watched the imposing figure cross the lawn with a determined gait. He softened his step as he approached the garden and, as Anne caught his eye, he stopped, drinking her in. Mrs. Tompkins did not need to hear their words to know what they said. His lips moved, calling her name. Anne turned. When she saw him, her entire being glowed and she positively flew across the garden to land in his arms. He swung her around a few times before setting her down, gently so that she did not lose her balance. He cradled her face in his hands and bent to place a kiss on her upturned lips. Mrs. Tompkins should have called a halt to their actions, but they were so obviously two matching halves of a perfect set that it did not seem improper at all. So Mrs. Tompkins kept silent, though she did not pull away from the touching scene unfolding in front of her. She was actually thankful in this instance that her family did not spare Anne a thought. That left Anne without a chaperone to interrupt her times with Commander Wentworth.

After a moment, Anne pulled back, and Mrs. Tompkins could see the Commander getting lost in her large brown eyes as she gazed adoringly up at him. Without breaking their eye contact, the Commander tucked Anne's arm preciously under his own, and they turned to meander down the gravel path winding through the trees and flower beds. Mrs. Tompkins had smiled and let the curtain fall back over the window as she continued cleaning up the tea dishes. Such a love as theirs was as rare as it was special. She wished them every happiness and hoped with everything in her that they would be able to see their marriage happen.

Jolted back to the present as she stepped off the last stair, Mrs. Tompkins supposed it was not really all that surprising that the family would not want Anne married. On some level, even if they were not aware of it, they knew that with Anne gone, their lives would suffer. She sighed. A brief pause let her know that Sir Walter and Elizabeth had retired to the parlor, judging from the sound of conversation drifting through the door. She knocked lightly and was bid to enter.

"Excuse me, Sir Walter," she curtsied from the doorway. "I do not mean to interrupt your card game, but Miss Anne has been taken ill."

"Ill? Whatever do you mean? How could Anne be ill?"

"Miss Anne got caught in the rain and has developed a fever."

"Give her some smelling salts," Elizabeth recommended absently. "She'll be fine."

"Salts, you say," he looked from his daughter to Mrs. Tompkins. "Yes, do give that a try." He turned back to the cards

"If you'll forgive me, sir, but I recommend sending for the doctor."

"Doctor?" Sir Walter repeated absently, comparing the cards in his hand to those spread out on the table.

"Yes, sir. Miss Anne requires the attentions of the doctor."

"Give her some smelling salts, some broth and water, and she'll be fine. She's just mooning about that naval officer she fancied herself in love with," Elizabeth snapped impatiently. "She'll be well enough in the morning."

"Yes, you mentioned that," Sir Walter laid down his cards. "Beat that set, dear!" he crowed.

"Drat!" huffed Elizabeth tossing her cards down. "Another round?" She asked, quickly overcoming her sulk.

Neither noticed Mrs. Tompkins leaving the room and closing the doors behind her. She was livid. His own daughter lay ill upstairs and he was concerned only with winning a hand of cards! She stomped upstairs, working to regain her composure before entering Miss Anne's room again. It would not do to let the rest of the staff see her upset. If she remained calm, so, too, would they.

Nelly looked up as she entered. "The doctor?" she asked.

Mrs. Tompkins pursed her lips. Nelly was a friend, so she was free to display a little of her temper. At a loss for words, Mrs. Tompkins simply shook her head.

Nelly sighed. "I thought so." She looked down at Anne, now sleeping, though fitfully. "Well, perhaps it won't be bad. I think we have enough experience to get her through it. If not, … perhaps, Lady Russell can get through to him."

Mrs. Tompkins nodded. She did not always agree with Lady Russell, did not always approve of her methods or philosophies, but she was fond of Miss Anne. If a doctor was required, Sir Walter would listen to Lady Russell. "Very well, Nelly. We'll see how she fares through the night. I do hope you are right and the fever does not increase; however, the fever is not as much of a concern to me as her state of mind."

"That was rather odd. What caused that, do you know? How did she come to be in the garden for so long?"

"It is a shock of some sort. I have seen it in a few men come back from wartime battles. Something occurs that they cannot comprehend and their mind shuts down. The experience is too much for them to absorb all at once, and so the brain turns memories off until the event has dissolved into smaller, more easily handled pieces."

"But, Miss Anne has not been in battle!"

"True, but she was encouraged to reject Commander Wentworth today."

"No! But they were so in love! It was obvious to the world that they were meant to be together!"

"Yes, I agree, but nonetheless, a separation has occurred, and I think that is what has broken our Anne's spirits. It was as though their hearts had become one, and when the good Commander left, she was left with only half a heart. The pain of that separation is too much to bear, so her mind has shut down in order that her body might continue to live."

"Oh, dear me," Nelly intoned sadly. "If ever there were two people meant to be …"

"Yes," Mrs. Tompkins sighed. "But there is naught we can do about that now. We must first get Miss Anne through the night and hope that she does recover as quickly as her family seems to think she will."

"What?"

"Smelling salts and broth are the recommended prescription from her sister."

"But she has a fever!"

"Yes, but they feel that she is merely being melodramatic after rejecting a suitor."

"Well, I never! Let one of them get a sniffle, and the doctor would be sent for post haste!"

Mrs. Tompkins chuckled harshly. "Tis true, but we must concern ourselves with Miss Anne, now." The two women worked through the night to keep Anne's fever down. Their diligence paid off: Anne's fever rose, but not alarmingly so, and by luncheon the next day, it had tapered off.

Two days after Anne's spell in the rain, Lady Russell tapped on Anne's door. "Anne?" she let herself in the room, and pulled up a chair next to the bed. "Anne, Elizabeth has told me that you broke off with the Commander. I am exceedingly proud of you, dear. I know that was a difficult thing for you to do." She patted Anne's hand reassuringly. "Your spirits are low right now, but you will recover in due course. I assure you. All will be well. Anne?"

Anne slowly turned her head on the pillow to stare blankly at Lady Russell.

"You must gather your wits about you soon. There is to be a ball at the Assembly Hall in a fortnight! I know how you love to dance!"

Anne pulled her hand out from under Lady Russell's and rolled to face the wall.

Momentarily taken aback, Lady Russell blinked in confusion a couple of times before standing to leave. "I can see you are not yet fully recovered from your fever. Rest well, my dear, gather your strength. I shall call upon you tomorrow." She left the room.

Mrs. Tompkins came out of the dressing room where she had been when Lady Russell came in. She did not understand how such a sharp woman as Lady Russell could not see that Anne was not recovering from a silly broken infatuation. Her heart was well and truly broken, and Mrs. Tompkins was not sure it was a state from which Anne would ever fully recover.

She sat on the bed. "Miss Anne? I want to tell you how sorry I am. I know you loved the Commander very much."

Anne turned her head to peer at Mrs. Tompkins over her shoulder.

"I lost my love, too, you see, so I have a notion of what you are feeling. My William died. Your Frederick has not died, but it must feel that way to you."

Tears welled in Anne's eyes. Yes, that is exactly how it felt. How like Mrs. Tompkins to understand her when no one else did!

"It is hard to hear, Miss Anne, but even when something as harsh as your true love dying or leaving you happens, life does continue on at a right steady pace. I am not saying the pain goes away, for it does not. Sometimes it threatens to overcome every other thing of importance. But you must learn how to be the master of your grief, Miss Anne, so that it does not overpower you.

"A tree is strong and stalwart. The wind does not blow it over, but it does rustle the leaves, sometimes it even tosses about the branches. But the tree remains standing as firm and as tall as ever. You need to be like that tree, Miss Anne. Stand tall and strong in the face of grief and adversity. They will rustle your leaves, shake your branches, but you must not let despair uproot you."

Anne's tear-rimmed eyes were filled with questions and doubt.

"Oh, you can do it, Miss Anne, if you really want to. But even the strongest tree begins life as a sapling, a small scrawny sapling that gets bent low to the ground in the wind. But it recovers and gains strength, until one day, there is a mighty oak tree standing in the place of that once-scrawny sapling. Leaves and branches may move about, but no longer is the pain enough to double it over.

"Miss Anne, if I may be so bold …"

Anne nodded.

"It is a grievous thing, the separation of you and Commander Wentworth. Anyone who knew you could see that yours was a perfect love match."

The tears flowed unchecked down Anne's face. Mrs. Tompkins dabbed at the tears with the edge of the sheet.

"You must cry, Miss Anne. My mother once told me that tears cleanse the soul. Grief is a fact of life in these situations, but it is ugly and hurtful, and holding it in only allows it to grow more so. You must shed the tears that will wash the grief away. At first you will feel like that sapling, the grief so powerful you can barely breathe. But, I promise you, Miss Anne, that it will become more bearable. It will take time, and it will not be easy, but grief will pass."

"How?" Anne whispered.

"By looking forward and not down at your feet. Develop a purpose, find something to do, something new to learn. When you have learned it, find something else. Keeping your hands and mind active is the only way to persevere. It will provide you with handholds you need to keep yourself upright when grief and despair hit you when you least expect them. And that does happen."

"But what can I do?"

"We will find something, Miss Anne. Do not worry about that. But first you need to rest and recover from yesterday's shock."

"He left me." Anne sniffled as a fresh round of tears blurred her eyesight. She sat up, mopping her face with the sheet as Mrs. Tompkins had done.

"I am sorry."

"He would not even let me tell him about the compromise I thought of."

"You may tell me," Mrs. Tompkins offered. "It is not the same, I know, but perhaps it will help to tell someone."

"I was going to suggest that we wait. He spoke of his friend, Thomas Harville, who wanted to wed his Millie, but he had not the means to support her, so they were waiting two years for him to earn more money in the Navy. If that did not work out, he was going to seek alternate employment ashore so that they could be together.

"I was going to ask Frederick if we could work out a plan like that. Lady Russell's objections were for his lack of money and opportunities to rise up in rank. They were very logical reasons, and I could find no argument with them. But I wanted to be with Frederick. My proposal was going to be that he return to the Navy as planned, knowing that I would wait for him, that my heart was his. In a year, two years, we were supposed to figure that out together, he would work to accumulate some wealth and would have an idea if he could advance as he needed to. Then, he could return for me and we would marry." She looked up at Mrs. Tompkins. "But he didn't listen. He wouldn't even let me speak." Gut wrenching sobs wracked her body.

Mrs. Tompkins reacted instinctively and gathered the heartbroken girl into her embrace. Anne held on to her tightly as she poured her grief into the understanding shoulder of the only woman who had truly loved her since her mother had died.


	3. First Letter

_7 October 1806_

__

_Dear Frederick,_

____

_The pain of missing you is still intense, though, with Mrs. Tompkins's assistance, it is becoming easier to bear. She has kept me busy with rounds of household tasks that I did not know were done. In assisting my sister, Elizabeth, with the management of Kellynch Hall, I was accustomed to discussing with Mrs. Tompkins the broader scope of tasks needing doing on a daily or regular basis, but never did I give thought to what was required to bring those tasks to fruition._

_____ _

_Inventorying the linens, for example, necessitates far more than a mere counting of sheets and towels. First the soiled linens must be washed, but even prior to that, it must be ascertained that there is an adequate amount of laundry soap on hand, and if not, it must be made, which may require a trip into town to secure the proper ingredients. The laundry must then be washed, dried, ironed, folded, and put away. Only then can a proper inventory be conducted. I must admit, I had never given a thought to the materials needed to wash the sheets when I requested that they be counted! It has been quite illuminating and, it its own way, rather fascinating. There is much work being done each day that I do not know about, but that must be done so that I and my family can lead the life of leisure my father believes the family of a baronet is entitled to live. It is astounding and quite astonishing! I do not believe I will ever see a freshly made bed again without thinking of all the hands that were required and all the steps that were taken to assemble all the linens necessary for a properly made bed._

______ _ _

_And it does not stop with the linens – menus, cooking, baking, waxing, mopping, polishing, and more! I shan't bore you with the details, but I am very terribly impressed by the staff of Kellynch Hall. They are busy each day so that I might spend my time reading, or gardening, or doing whatever pleases me. I am almost ashamed that I work so little and they work so hard._

_______ _ _ _

_But I have now joined their ranks. At least for a time, and just in small increments. Mrs. Tompkins assured me that keeping my mind busy was the best way for me to learn to handle my grief in losing you. She lost her husband in the war, you see, and understands my sorrow. She allows that while you have not actually died, as her husband did, that my experience must feel very much the same as if you had. There are times when I remember a dance or a bit of a conversation or a stolen kiss and all of a sudden I cannot stand upright and my lungs will not allow me to breathe. At times like that, Frederick, I have no inkling how I shall survive the next few minutes without you, much less face a full life alone. Mrs. Tompkins will allow me a moment or two to compose myself, then she gently guides my mind back to the task at hand, whatever it may be. I was skeptical at first, I will admit, but it has worked. Somewhat The bouts have been reduced from several times a day, to merely several in a week. The nights are the hardest, because during those times there are no tasks to set my hands upon, nothing but the dark canvas of night on which to review our time together – there are no memories of laundry soap or baking bread that can distract me from remembering how it felt to be with you, to know the warmth of your embrace, the tender touch of your lips upon mine. Mrs. Tompkins's strategy works very well during the day, but I wake each morning to damp pillows and swollen eyes._

________ _ _ _ _

_Mrs. Tompkins assures me that the crying is cleansing my soul of the beast of grief – that without the tears, that monster would just fester and grow. I pray she is right because most times I feel I cannot get the tears out fast enough, that the grief has swollen so large within me that I will soon burst with a resounding splash into a puddle on the floor._

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_She has also recommended that I write to you. I know you will not receive these letters, but I cannot help but follow her advice on this as her recommendation of activity has proven astute and reliable. In truth, I am not so certain about this aspect of her recommended program. Writing to you provides a momentary feeling of exultation as I dream that what I compose might actually end up in your hands, but I quickly realize the folly of such thoughts. So I persevere with the manufacturing of words to create sentences, and with each new letter in every new word, a new crack appears in my composure as I try to make myself believe that I am not writing in vain, so that before the paragraph is completed, I find myself reaching for a handkerchief to clear my eyes and a blotter to clear up the splotches on the paper._

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_I hope you are well, dear Frederick. I read in the newspaper last month that you were promoted to Captain and given the Asp as your first ship! How very terribly exciting! I know how you longed to command a ship of your own, and now that dream has been fulfilled! I do wish I could have seen you embark upon her! I am sure you cut a fine figure in your new uniform! As I cannot be where you are, and I am quite certain you would not want me beside you in any instance, I will content myself with scouring the newspaper each day for news of you or your ship. Fortunately for me, father seldom takes notice of any but the society pages, and so does not notice my preoccupation with the headlines and news of the war. I am wishing with all that I have left in me – and it is admittedly not much, but what there is belongs only to you – that your voyages are successful and safe._

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Forever yours,_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Anne_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	4. An Attempt at Writing

_16 October 1806_

_Dearest Anne,_

_I am in agony, remembering with abject horror how I departed from our last meeting. I was a complete and utter boor,_

Frederick snarled as he scratched out that line.

_I can never expect to earn your forgiveness, but Anne, you are the only one I can ever love._

"No!" came his frustrated cry. That line met a similar fate as the first.

Frederick buried his face in his hands. "There are no words …" he moaned. "How could I have treated her so?"

"Yes, how could you have?"

Frederick looked up to see his Lieutenant, Thomas Harville, resting against the open door.

"Really, Wentworth? Still moaning about that girl? It's been, what, three months, now?"

"Two," Frederick corrected curtly as he stood.

"Isn't it time to move on?" Thomas continued as if Frederick hadn't spoken. "We'll be in port soon, plenty there to help you forget."

Frederick growled and began pacing the room.

Thomas hid a smile. He had never seen Frederick like this and found it to be quite diverting. Frederick Wentworth, quickly becoming known in the Navy for his cool head, keen intellect, and an intuition for battle that would likely move him up in rank, wealth, and circumstance rather more quickly than was normal, was at odds with himself over a female. In truth, while Thomas found it amusing, he was, in a small way, concerned that Frederick's preoccupation with whomever he had left behind during their last shore leave would affect his abilities to guide their crew. There had been no problems as yet, but neither had they seen battles. Frederick had been close-lipped about the matter, and Thomas had been doing his best for the past two months to wrangle the story out of his friend.

Frederick had left his journal open and Thomas went over to read the entry, thinking it was the ship's log. At first he could not see beyond the jumble of smudges, ink drops, and crossed off lines laddering down the page. His jaw dropped in disbelief at the splotched and blotted chaos that greeted his eyes. Frederick was meticulous about his log entries; surely this could not be – he paused, finally taking in the words. "Anne? Is that her name?"

Frederick flew across the room, snatched the book and threw it at the wall, where it received a dent in the spine before tumbling to the floor, papers spilling out from between its covers. Thomas hurried to pick them up before Frederick could stop him. He could not help but read a few before tucking them back. There were many more, just like the journal entry he had seen: pleas for forgiveness, droplets of ink splattered all over, lines crossed out – clearly the work of a man deeply troubled and frustrated about something.

Thomas looked from the pages to his friend, now stoically standing at the window, staring out at the ocean. "What have you done to your Anne, my friend, that requires you to beg her forgiveness in such a heartfelt and stricken manner?"

Frederick was silent for several moments. "My Anne," he whispered. "How I would dearly love to be able to call her mine." He shook his head. "She will never have me, now. Of that I am certain." A deep sigh followed a few moments of silent longing. "My greatest wish is for her to be mine, but that will never be. I have ensured that."

Thomas joined Frederick at the window. Together they looked out over the expanse of undulating, white-tipped water spreading for miles in every direction.

"We were to be married," Frederick finally explained. "Her father, though he is opposed to men of the Navy, did not object to the marriage. He did not condone the match, but neither did he prohibit our desire to be wed."

"You are engaged?" Thomas was taken aback.

"Was. Briefly. A few weeks only. At the urging of her sister and godmother, she was persuaded to reject the proposal."

"If she rejected you, why are you begging her forgiveness?" Thomas inquired. "Surely you were the one done wrong?"

"That is how I felt for several days after I parted from her. Surely, if she was strong, she would willingly overcome, even defy, the objections of her family. Her own father did not object to our union. How could she?"

"She has not strength of spirit? That does not bode well for the wife of a naval officer."

"Anne is … She has … Perfect. She is perfection. She has a love of life, a joy in living of which I have never seen the equal in anyone, save perhaps my sister, Sophia. There is, in fact, much about Anne that brings Sophie to mind. She is the daughter of a baronet, yet she is unaffected by class distinctions, so that a scullery maid might be equal to a duchess in Anne's eyes. She sees the people around her, sees them for who they are, their delights, their talents; she sees well beyond any class distinctions. It is the only way one such as her could deign to speak to me, a common-born working man, much less defy good sense enough to want to be my wife."

"Why, then, did she reject you?"

"That's just it, Harville. When I got over the pain, and thought back on it, I am not altogether certain she did, in actuality, reject our understanding."

"Then what –"

"Her sister interrupted us. She told Anne to get on with ending the engagement, and walked out trilling some nonsense about needing Anne's assistance, as if she would ever …" His voice trailed off, not wanting to be diverted about his thoughts and feelings of Anne's family. "I admit I did not hear much more than the roaring of anger in my ears after that. I do not believe I gave Anne a chance to explain. I am most certain she had a plan. She was clever that way; she always had creative interpretations of the world around her, new ways of looking at old problems. But I cut her off at every turn. I did not let her speak. I interpreted her opening words to fit my own meaning. Then I stormed off and left her alone. I did not even say good-bye!"

Several long, silent moments passed as each man gave in to his thoughts about what had just been revealed. Frederick wallowed more deeply in his misery, certain he had successfully convinced the only woman he would ever love that he had not the remotest sense of wanting to share her company for the remainder of his days. He had not intended to confide in Harville, but the story had tumbled out without his being able to control it. Harville was as dear to him as his own brother, and in him Frederick had complete faith and trust that whatever was spoken between them would venture no further. But he still did not relish having another know about his weakness and folly.

Thomas Harville was meditating on the new facets he had just learned about his friend and Captain. Frederick had never before in their times together shown more than a passing interest in females of any sort, be they high-born daughters or tavern wenches. He avoided the daughters – and thusly, marriage – and took occasional pleasure with the wenches, but that was all. He seemed to have no concern for forming an attachment, not for wealth nor for connections, either of which would have surely provided more expeditious vocational advancement. But Frederick was a rare sort; he was loved by all, ever ready with a cheerful laugh, a few nice words, the assistance of a helping hand. He was an accommodating man, willing to put forth efforts at his own expense for the greater good of those around him, but not to the extreme that he endangered his situation or his person. He was an easy man to like, and had many in his acquaintanceship, but he held only a few close enough to call dear friends. His eagerness to learn all that he could about seafaring ways and methods, independent of whether or not they were directly related to his assigned tasks, had been noticed by his earliest officers and captains, and as a result he had risen through ranks at a faster pace than is typical for one so unconnected and lacking in wealth as he, obtaining his first Captaincy at the mere age of three-and-twenty.

"Well," Thomas sighed. "There is no other way: you must make a choice."

Frederick looked at him in question.

"There are two directions from which you can choose." Thomas watched Frederick closely. "You may choose to follow the path that removes Anne from your life forever, allowing her to make a connection with another man."

Frederick gasped, his face paling, and his body contorting as if he had just been punched in the gut.

"But," Thomas continued, "based upon your rather violent reaction to that particular option, I would suggest you set your sails for the opposite direction. We have ten months remaining of our tour in the Indies before we once again set foot on England's shores. I would suggest that you use that time to polish your apology to gleaming status." Thomas headed for the door. "I cannot say as I have ever known a woman who did not appreciate the sight and experience of man groveling before her. And, if all is as you described, you, my friend, have a fair amount of knee-scraping before you if you wish for your Anne to even consider thinking about seeing you again, much less joining her life to yours in wedlock." With a slight bow and a small smile of encouragement, he quitted the room, pulling the door softly shut behind him.

Frederick moved back to the desk, contemplating what he must do, how he must attempt to compose an explanation. With small hesitation, he rearranged the papers, pulling a blank page to the top of the stack, making a mental note to purchase more paper the next time they made landfall.

_Dearest Anne,_

_I can never expect you to want to forgive me for my behavior when last we were together. I was completely reprehensible, my manner and tone extremely ungentleman-like, and there are not enough days left in my life to provide adequate time for apologizing for the grossly wrong way I have treated you. I was totally lacking in any form of manners, respect, or courtesy to you, the one I regard above all others – the one who holds my heart. I can offer no explanation other than that my love for you was so fresh and new, and entirely unexpected – I was only in Somerset to visit my older brother whom I had not seen for several months … I had no intentions of seeking out any sort of female companionship, and falling in love was the farthest thing from my mind._

_Our immediate attachment and bonding caught me quite unawares, and I was certain that it was too good to be true. How could the daughter of a baronet possibly be attracted to me, a mere ship's commander, a person of the Navy? It was not to be considered. But happen, it did, and I was in awe._

_Your compassion for all people, no matter their status or social standing,_

"No! No! No!" Frederick cried out in frustration, crossing out the last line. That was all wrong! It will not do!

He tried again:

_You do not like me to say it, but your beauty is incomparable for you shine from the inside out._

He growled low in his throat. She hates flattery! I speak it as truth, but she will see it as flattery … It cannot stay. He scratched his pen through it with such force that the point of the nib broke off in uneven sections, rendering it quite useless, and tore through the page on which he wrote his most current attempt, and three or four sheets of parchment beneath. He stared at the mess in disbelief, not quite believing how utterly foul his luck had become of late. Resigned to making no more progress in this particular arena at the moment, he slammed the journal shut, threw the destroyed pen in the general direction of a rubbish bin, where it bounced off the rim and tapped the floor before rolling under a nearby chair.

Resolutely, he ignored this latest evidence of dwindling good favor with the Fates, forcibly placed his hat upon his head, and left the room, eager to seek out a situation in which he could have complete control, such as a drunken brawl among seven or eight of his seamen, or perhaps a marauding pirate vessel, or even Napoleon himself. Any of those would certainly prove easier tasks to handle than pulling together the right words in the correct order to convince the woman he loved that he did, in fact love her, wanted nothing more than to have her by his side for the rest of their days, and would regret until his death the cruel and brutal manner in which he had treated her.

He stopped in the doorway. He did not deserve her. He knew this to be fact. He should follow the first path Harville had described. That would be the properest route to take. But the idea of not ever seeing Anne again, of imagining her with another chased the air from his lungs, making it impossible to draw a breath. He did not deserve her, could not expect that she would ever forgive him. But he had to try. His life and his happiness depended upon it.

He sighed. As Harville stated, there were ten months at least remaining of this tour of the Indies. He clicked the door closed behind him and headed above decks. There was little he could do to amend his personal situation at this precise moment in time, so it was best to be thinking of more immediate concerns. Frederick sighed and wished for an adequate distraction as he left the sanctuary of his inner rooms and emerged into the bright sunlight of the afternoon.


	5. Silverware

_16 December 1806_

_Dearest Frederick,_

_I hope that you are doing well. I read that the Asp overtook and captured a ship, and that highest commendations were bestowed on that Captain due to the fact that no lives were lost from either crew. Well done! The article failed to mention the location of the battle, so there are no details beyond those few, for which I even had to provide myself the name of the captain as the article did not include that. The news of the war with Napoleon has quite taken over the headlines of late, so mention of any news not directly relevant to the Little Emperor gets a mere passing-mention. However, I know 'twas you, and I am most relieved to hear that you, and everyone else on either ship, was spared to live another day. I pray each day that should you encounter more battles, that the final results are as agreeable as those of this one._

_Events at Kellynch Hall are not quite so active and exciting as perchance a battle between ships might be, but they are not unpleasant. Much. I am getting stronger, though there are times when the pain of loss overcomes me; however, they are fewer than before, and farther between, though that should not suggest that there are not several heart-wrenching moments every week. They still come more often than is comfortable, but they are, I feel, losing something of their knife's edge. Mrs. Tompkins assures me that I am progressing normally. I can only pray she is right._

_Though there are not many out of the ordinary happenings here, we do have our own occasional battles. I shall describe a recent one for you, though there is a twist in the ending for which I cannot decide to have a liking, though I am not sure it is an unhappy ending, either._

_'Twas last week, 19th December. You were four months gone, and I was particularly melancholy throughout the entire morning. Mrs. Tompkins decided that my mind needed a distraction to assist it in focusing on something other than your perpetual absence, which, even if we had parted on better terms, would still be a fact as you have been assigned a twelve month tour. Mr. Channing is our butler, and, as you may well know, has as one his responsibilities, the maintenance of our silver, all of which is stored in a closet, to which only he and Mrs. Tompkins have a key. Mrs. Tompkins opened the room to me today, with the explanation that I would learn the art of polishing silver. She brought out the second-best flatware, deeming it wise to begin with items that would withstand inexperienced hands, and set me to relieving an assortment of forks and spoons of their tarnish. To aid in my distraction, she allowed three children, who are of age enough to be considered for certain positions within the household, to also learn the rudiments of silver polishing. It is not a terribly difficult task, but it requires a bit more skill than one would perhaps initially think when hearing the term. The children proved quite adroit at it, and I was soon forced to prove myself to them. It did not take long at all for the children's natural competitiveness to suggest a sort of competition …_

"I propose," Anne offered with a shy drop of her head, "that we respectfully request for Mr. Channing to employ himself elsewhere for the morning. We four shall finish polishing the silver. Just before luncheon, we shall each select a knife, a fork, and a spoon from what we have polished, and arrange them on napkins, under which shall be a slip of paper with our names on them. Then we shall ask Mr. Channing to inspect our work and declare one to be the best polished of the lot."

"It's a fine idea, Miss Anne, but, beggin' your pardon, he's sure to pick yours," piped 10-year-old Geordie, the head groom's son.

"He will not know which is mine," Anne explained patiently, "as my name will be hidden beneath the napkin, just as yours will."

"Really?" Geordie's mischievous grin lit his face. "So I could beat you, Miss Anne?"

"It is entirely possible."

"Jeepers!" This cry came from an amazed Little Tim, also ten, and son of Big Tim, one of the groundskeepers.

"No one will win anything if your tongues don't stop polishing your teeth with all this chatter," warned Mr. Channing in a stern, but kind, tone.

Three heads immediately bent over their forks, spoons, and knives, little hands brushing silver cleaning rags back and forth.

Channing smiled as he stood and presented an almost imperceptible bow and nod of thanks to Miss Anne. He had several things that needed looking after this morning, and not having to oversee children polishing silver would allow him ample time to get all his tasks completed in a timely manner without having to rush through any one of them.

Anne acknowledged his thanks with a slight nod and a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Then she, too, bent to her task, stopping to help little Jenny, Geordie's 8-year-old sister, with the spoon she was working on.

An hour or two later, Mr. Channing returned to the kitchen where he was met by a small crowd surrounding the table where the silver polishing had taken place. Miss Anne, Mrs. Tompkins, the children's parents, and the kitchen staff were awaiting his arrival. On the table, as promised, were four napkins, each with three pieces of freshly polished, gleaming flatware displayed. Three children looked nervously up at him; Miss Anne was as calm as ever.

"Come, children, let us give Mr. Channing room to review the results of our labor." Anne gathered the children to stand in front of her to one side of the table.

Channing hid a smile, exchanged an amused glance with Mrs. Tompkins, and then set to the task of inspection. He picked up each piece, intending to give them a quick glance, then select the best, which would obviously be Miss Anne's. To his surprise, however, they were all quite good. He began again, giving each piece as thorough an inspection as if he had done the work himself. There was not one set that stood out among the rest. He turned to look at the children.

The already quiet room held its breath.

"The work presented here is exemplary," he declared. There was a sigh of relief. "I should like to know who assisted these children with their task."

A small uproar ensued. Mr. Channing held up his hands, demanding silence. He got it. "One at a time, please."

"Mr. Channing, I assure you, we all polished our own pieces, unassisted," Miss Anne declared.

Mr. Channing nodded. "Very well." He looked back at the children. "Jenny, Geordie, Little Tim, I want you to know that the work you have done here is as fine as I might have done. I will be pleased to have any of you assist with the silver polishing in the future, and, if you continue to do such fine work, you might easily rise to assist me with other tasks."

The children glowed with the praise and there were excited gasps from their parents. It wasn't necessarily difficult to get on staff on an estate the size of Kellynch Hall, especially for those who had grown up here, but it did not harm one's chances to be known for good work at such a young age, either.

"You have all done a fine job and should be proud of your work," Mr. Channing continued. "However, for today's exercise, the rules dictate that I select just one, though I do want you to know that it is a difficult selection, and I heartily believe that we should conduct a similar exercise again next month."

The children nodded eagerly, Jenny adding a few excited hops to her agreement.

"For this month, I choose …" he turned and reviewed the silver again and chose the one he felt was perhaps a little brighter than the others, hoping that it was Miss Anne's.

Everyone in the kitchen held their breath again as Mrs. Tompkins reached under the napkin to withdraw the winner's name. "Jenny," she announced.

There was a heartbeat of silence, the all three children squealed and the adults congratulated the children's parents.

"Miss Anne, we beat you! We beat you!" All three children were exuberant in their combined glee that one of them had beaten her in this competition. She smiled and hugged each one, as Mrs. Tompkins moved in to calm everyone down and get luncheon served for the staff.

All of a sudden, the room got eerily quiet. Mr. Channing looked up to see Lady Russell standing in the doorway.

"I heard a roaring. I came to inspect and see that all was well," she explained to Mr. Channing while scanning the room. "I trust nothing is amiss?"

"No, ma'am. We were just preparing to serve luncheon to the staff."

"I see," she said, obviously not understanding at all. She caught sight of Anne, rising from hugging one of the children. "Anne?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "What are you doing? What has happened?" She took in the spectacle of Anne's apron and hands covered in silver polish, with smudges on her cheek and nose.

"I was polishing silver, Lady Russell," Anne explained.

"So I gather. But why?"

"It was in need of polishing."

Lady Russell stiffened. She was not accustomed to … to … whatever this was. She was not entirely certain what had happened to Anne, but she intended to find out. There was something different about her young friend, and she wanted to know what it was. "I see," her lips pursed in disapproval. "Would you please join me in the parlor?"

"Certainly," Anne nodded respectfully. "I shall be there momentarily."

Lady Russell left the kitchen in a huff. The room relaxed. Anne went to speak with the children's parents to congratulate them before Mrs. Tompkins hustled her off to wash her hands and face. She offered Anne some lunch, but Anne refused, claiming that she was not hungry. Mrs. Tompkins took a long look at Anne, then ushered her into the housekeeper's office.

Anne lowered herself into a chair. "I am so nervous, Mrs. Tompkins. Why am I trembling so?"

"Because, dearie, the sapling is growing stronger."

"Truly?"

"Yes," Mrs. Tompkins brushed Anne's hair back.

Tears formed in Anne's eyes. "But I do not want to forget him."

"Close your eyes."

Anne did.

"What do you see?"

"Frederick."

"That's all you need to know. You see him whenever you close your eyes. You will _never_ forget him. But remember, life does keep forging on. You will not forget the pain of loss, but you will learn to bear it. _That_ is the sapling gaining strength.

"It is hard, I know. Lady Russell is a dearly loved friend. She does have your best interests in mind."

"Her arguments were not wrong."

"No, they were not. But that does not mean they hurt any less. She loves you, Anne, and she is only trying to do what is best for you. You must remember that."

"I shall try."

"But you must also remember to listen to your heart. Contentment is often somewhere in between."

"Compromise."

"Yes."

Anne grasped Mrs. Tompkins's hand. "Thank you. I do not know how I could have made it through these past months without your kindness and help."

"It was my pleasure, dearest, and I hope you keep in your mind that whatever is said between you and Lady Russell, you are always welcome in my office."

"I am glad to hear it, Mrs. Tompkins." Anne smiled in relief. "I may be stronger, but I am a sapling still, and in much need of strengthening."

Mrs. Tompkins leaned over and pressed a kiss to Anne's forehead. She pulled Anne into an embrace. "You are stronger than you realize, my dear."

"Thank you," Anne whispered as she returned Mrs. Tompkins's hug.


	6. To Bath

Anne wiped her hands on her dress. She did not know why she was so nervous. Lady Russell was a family friend whom Anne loved dearly and who loved Anne in return. She had never done anything without Anne or her sisters' best interests in mind. It was Lady Russell who had procured places for her and Mary at Mrs. Linden's Academy, one of the area's most prestigious schools for girls, located in Bath. If left to their father, neither of his younger girls would have received an education at all. With the exception of Elizabeth, the oldest, Sir Walter was quite disappointed that he had only daughters. Elizabeth had had private tutors and instructors for her lessons as their father could not bear the thought of being deprived of his favorite daughter's presence. But he would have completely overlooked the education of his other girls once they had outgrown their governess had it not been for Lady Russell.

Anne had always been able to turn to Lady Russell for advice and other matters that needed maternal perspectives. It was only her insistence on rejecting Frederick Wentworth's proposal of marriage that Anne's opinion had differed from Lady Russell's in any significant manner. As Lady Russell had been away from Kellynch Lodge for the past several weeks, attending to affairs associated with other properties she owned, Anne had not been able to discuss it with her. In truth, Anne was not certain she wanted it to be the topic of conversation because Lady Russell seemed unusually adamant in her opposition to the match.

She took a deep breath and tried to will her heart to stop pounding. With a small smile, she returned a wink of encouragement from the doorman, opened the doors, and walked through to the parlor. Anne liked this room. It was bright, catching most of the morning and afternoon sun, and the windows looked out upon the gardens that she had designed. Even though this was the room in which she and Frederick had begun their disastrous parting, she still could not dislike this room. She chose a seat across a low table from Lady Russell. Tea had already been brought, and Lady Russell waited not impatiently as Anne prepared a cup and plate for herself.

When finally Anne was settled with her refreshments, Lady Russell took a sip before returning her cup to its saucer. "Would you mind, please, explaining what you were doing just now?"

"Polishing silver."

Lady Russell pursed her lips. "I see." She took another sip. "And why, pray tell, were you doing so?"

Anne, too, drank some of her own tea. "It was in need of polishing."

Lady Russell set her cup and saucer on the table with a rattling of fine china. "Anne. Stop this nonsense at once!" she demanded. "Tell me immediately why you felt compelled to perform a task for which staff have been hired. Why did you feel it necessary to behave as a servant in your own home?" Lady Russell's countenance was emanating disapproval as she gazed at Anne, awaiting a response and wondering if her young friend was suffering an ailment of the mind.

Anne finished the last bite of her tart, drank the last of her tea, set her cup and saucer on the table, then picked them up again, preferring to have something to keep her hands occupied. She sighed deeply, trying to arrange her thoughts in a logical enough order to answer the questions appropriately. Lady Russell's inquiry was not unexpected, but Anne had not had enough time to determine what she should tell her long-time friend and which details would be better left unshared. She took a deep breath and began, "Lady Russell, while you have been away these past few months, there has been a … it has been necessary for me to divert my thoughts away from certain … unpleasant … memories."

Lady Russell's brow furrowed as she tried to imagine what could possibly have happened to distress Anne so profoundly, but she remained silent.

"After recovering from a fever, I was able to turn to gardening for a time, but the season was waning and there was not so much to be done in a day that would keep my mind actively occupied for a sufficient period of time as to be helpful." She sighed, raised her cup to take a drink, realized that it was empty, and so returned it to the saucer in her lap. "Mrs. Tompkins noticed my distress and in conversation, we discovered that she had once experienced a feeling similar to my current state. She had found that keeping her hands busy had helped her mind to occupy itself with thoughts that, while not necessarily more pleasant, were at the very least less disturbing. She recommended a few activities which I tried, to no avail, as I was accustomed enough to doing them that they provided no distraction at all. In desperation, I turned to her again. She recommended I learn to do something with which I was not yet familiar. I willingly allowed myself to be led by her. Each new thing she showed me was so new to my experience that it required my full attention and proved to be quite successful at distracting me from my melancholy feelings."

Silence reigned for a few moments as Lady Russell took in what Anne had just told her. "What has happened, dear Anne, that would cause such emotional turmoil as you describe?" She was truly concerned for her friend.

Anne gazed in Lady Russell in puzzlement. Was it possible, she wondered, that Lady Russell would really not comprehend the source of her sadness? Did she not realize that her desire for Anne to reject Frederick had broken Anne's heart so that it might never mend? Lady Russell's concerned expression did not alter, leaving Anne to feel that it was indeed quite possible that she did not realize how her directive had nearly crushed Anne under its weight.

"If you please, Lady Russell, I should prefer not to speak about it. The wounds are still fresh enough that I am insufficiently recovered to be able to discuss it without sorrow."

Lady Russell blinked. This was entirely unexpected. She had never known Anne, young, biddable Anne, to evade an answer. "I see," she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle in her dress. "Am I permitted to ask what sorts of activities you have undertaken?"

"There are a great many things I have endeavored to learn of late. Some were more enjoyable than others, of course, but all were interesting in their own ways, and have provided me with new perspectives and insights into mattes about which I did not give much thought or even know existed. That part of my new education has been the most enlightening and rewarding."

"And polishing silver was part of your … education … I suppose?"

"Yes. That was the most recent lesson."

"May I ask what sorts of activities preceded that?"

"I have learned much about various household tasks such as laundry, cooking, and gardening."

"Please help me to understand why you felt compelled to act as a servant? Are there not enough on staff to see to your needs?"

"Yes, Lady Russell, but—"

"Oh, she's just mooning about that sailor."

Both ladies turned to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway she smiled and glided in, arranging herself on the sofa next to Lady Russell. She elegantly poured herself some tea and took a delicate sip before continuing. "She's been this way ever since her sailor stormed out of here a few weeks ago." She took a dainty bite of a tart. "Father and I were scandalized, of course, but our pleas for her to cease her games fell on deaf ears, I'm afraid." She gave a long-suffering sigh.

Lady Russell turned to Anne in utter astonishment, completely oblivious to Anne's suddenly ashen pallor and horrified expression. "Is this true? Is this drama all about that man from the navy who thought he could marry you? Anne, I can understand your being upset about breaking off an attachment, but he was the first man you had shown an interest in. It was nothing more than infatuation, and there is no need to carry on in such a manner for this long over such a trivial matter."

"That's what I've been telling her," Elizabeth chimed in. "How will she ever find a decent match when she insists on looking and acting like a scullery maid?"

"We must act immediately," Lady Russell told Elizabeth. "It is late in the Season, but Bath will still have sufficient activities at this time of year. We can introduce her to company much more suitable to her rank and status, perhaps find a suitor or two."

"Bath!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "How I love Bath! I agree, it is a bit late in the Season, but it is true that there will still be concerts and soirees, perhaps a Christmas ball or two. We must have new wardrobes—"

"There is no time for that. We must set off as soon as it is conceivably possible. We may visit the modiste I favor in Bath once we are there …"

The two women excitedly continued making their plans, neither noticing Anne's cup and saucer tumbling to the floor as she rose and quietly left the room. She made her way to the one place where she felt safe anymore. She gently rapped on Mrs. Tompkins's office door.

"Come in!"

Anne pushed open the door, but found herself unable to move. Her breathing became erratic as she struggled to restrain the sobs she felt building within her.

"Anne!" Mrs. Tompkins rushed over to guide her to a chair before she fell to the floor. "Anne! Whatever has happened?" She cradled Anne's face in her hands, trying to get Anne's eyes to focus on something, but they were wide and unseeing. Mrs. Tompkins saw the tears building up and knew Anne would not win the fight to keep them from spilling over. "Anne, dear, look at me. Anne!"

With a start, Anne fixed her gaze on Mrs. Tompkins's loving, but concerned expression.

"What has happened? Tell me so that I may help you."

Anne's mouth opened a few times as she struggled to share the conversation that had just taken place. "They think—only infatuation—traveling…Bath…suitor." One tear escaped and trickled down her pale face. "I don't want to go," she whispered as another tear broke the dam and she crumpled into Mrs. Tompkins's embrace.


	7. Anne Takes Ill

18 January 1807

Dearest Frederick,

We have been in Bath nearly a month.

I feel dreadful.

And I am suffering from a cold, as well.

My fondest wish at this moment is to be anywhere in the world except in Bath—but only if I could be with you.

Lovingly yours,

Anne

Wearily, Anne let her pen fall from her fingers. Pulling on the desk, she hefted herself up from her seat, steadying herself with one hand on the back of the chair, grasping her journal in the other. Shivering slightly, she pulled her wrap tighter about her shoulders while wondering why she was so hot. She contemplated the miles from her position to the bed – surely it would take days to cross the room. With the last bit of strength in her legs, she stumbled to the bed and clawed herself to lay in the middle. She had not the will to crawl under the coverlets, so she tugged until she could wrap the top blanket around herself. Then she kicked it off. She settled for leaving her shoulders and feet uncovered. With a final surge of weak energy, she tucked her book of letters under her pillow.

Then she slept.

Lady Russell was mildly alarmed when Anne was not present the next morning. But she happily visited with Elizabeth, discussing their plans for the day, eventually inquiring after Anne.

Elizabeth snuffed. "She might be off scrubbing floors again, for all I know. There is no telling what sort of mundane activity has caught her fancy this time. Do you think the Earl and Countess of Ducheyne are going to be in Bath this season? Priscilla Lambton has heard that they might be, but no one seems to know when they will arrive. If they do come, I shall have to have some new gowns."

"I am not aware of the Ducheyne's schedule," Lady Russell informed Elizabeth curtly. "If you will excuse me, I will go check on Anne." Elizabeth did not pay her any notice, being preoccupied with the fashion plates before her.

Lady Russell made her way to Anne's room, stopping an upstairs maid along the way. "Have you heard from Miss Anne this morning?"

"No, ma'am," responded the maid with a small curtsey. "She usually is up and about before breakfast each day, but there has been no stirring from her room today. Not even a tug on the bell!"

"Thank you."

"Yes, ma'am." The maid curtsied and left.

Lady Russell knocked gently on Anne's door. "Anne? Are you awake?" She tried the doorknob when she did not hear a response. The door was unlocked, so she poked her head in. "Anne? Oh, my goodness!" Anne was sleeping fitfully, drenched in sweat. Lady Russell gasped and rushed to the bed, a touch of Anne's skin confirming that Anne had a high fever. "Do not worry, Anne dear, we will get you well soon enough." She stroked Anne's cheek and left the room.

She found Sir Walter in the drawing room, looking through the invitations and consulting his calendar. "Sir Walter," she began, startling him, "send for a doctor; Anne is quite ill."

"Ill?" asked Sir Walter, stupefied. "How could she possibly be ill?"

"I do not know how she became ill. What I do know is that she is very ill, indeed, and needs medical attention. You must send for a physician immediately. And possibly a nurse."

"A nurse?"

"Yes, a nurse. Someone to look after her while she is ill." Lady Russell pulled on her gloves. "Unless you or Elizabeth wish to sit with her…"

Sir Walter sighed. "Very well, then. But is a physician necessary? Could not an apothecary provide ample services?"

Lady Russell rolled her eyes. "Sir Walter, do what you must to provide Anne with the care that she needs. Now! That will include a man with medical training and a woman to tend to her until she is better."

"Yes, yes. Very well." Sir Walter sighed. "I will do so immediately." He called for the butler and explained what was needed. The butler bowed from the room and set staff out for the necessary arrangements. "There," he huffed, "are you satisfied?"

"Quite," Lady Russell replied as she positioned her bonnet on her head. "I shall return this afternoon to check on Anne."

"Fine, fine," Sir Walter sighed. "Perhaps you will then assist me in choosing which of these invitations I should accept. Several of them have conflicting dates."

"I shall review them upon my return," she promised, and left the house to conduct her errands.


	8. Meeting Sylvia

28 January 1807

Frederick,

I feel I must apologize for my last letter. I was not, as I am certain you were able to discern, feeling very well at the time. I had the beginnings of a cold when we left Kellynch, and I fear that the subsequent travel through winter's bitter cold into Bath's perpetual state of moisture did nothing to ease the symptoms I had been feeling. Quite the contrary, I was sniffling and sneezing within days of our arrival. Lady Russell was, I think, initially perturbed at my illness as it prevented me from attending any number of events to which we had been invited. After all, it was largely for my benefit that the trip had been undertaken; at least that was the reason all in my party save myself were telling themselves, though it took at least two of them no time at all to forget my presence when I was removed from theirs. When I was fatigued enough to take to my bed, Lady Russell was finally convinced enough that I was not feigning illness merely to escape attending social engagements to finally summon medical attention for me. The apothecary told her what I had been telling her: drink plenty of fluids and let me rest. At last, I was allowed the solitude I craved which also provided time enough to recover.

But my spirits were affected by more than my poor health. I have become accustomed, in recent weeks, to a certain small level of camaraderie and companionship of my new-found friends, namely the staff and servants of Kellynch Hall – most especially Mrs. Tompkins. Naturally, none of them could accompany us, but I miss being in the presence of such wonderfully delightful people as they all proved to be.

Adding to my loneliness is the fact that I really do not care for Bath at all! More than once I have been forced to this wet city against my wishes, most notably right after the death of my beloved mother. I was shuffled off to school here so quickly after her burial that I had barely begun to realize that she would no longer be a part of my life. Lady Russell has done her best with us since the passing of her dearest friend, but her outlook is more practical and less maternal than that of my mother. Lady Russell does not, I think, understand the beating of a romantic heart.

But, Frederick, since writing the above, I have come across news to share of an extremely agreeable nature! All is not melancholy and gloom for me in Bath any longer as I have found a friend! Her name is Sylvia, and we met quite by accident as her carriage splashed me while I was walking one rare sunny morning. I had been bedridden for some days and was growing quite bored with such a long period of inactivity. When the sun peeked through the curtains, I became determined to enjoy it in its natural habitat, and persuaded my nurse to help me dress. As I declined her company for my walk, preferring to enjoy it in my own way, I promised faithfully to not overwork myself. After so many days of continuous rest, she declared that my body was not up for my customary amounts of physical activity.

I had just decided that I had perhaps walked too far when Sylvia's carriage drove past and splashed the contents of a rather muddy puddle up onto the sidewalk where I was standing against a light post. It was not maliciously done, and my immediate thoughts were taken with which of the new techniques I had most recently learned would be required to remove mud stains from my gown. Sylvia, however, had no such knowledge of my thoughts, and insisted on transporting me home, after she made a delivery which was late and which was the reason why her carriage had been traveling rather faster than was usual. I assured her all was well, but she insisted, and so I allowed her to usher me inside her plain little carriage, which suited me well, as I have already admitted that I was feeling rather fatigued from the length of my walk.

Her delivery was to an orphanage. I saw not what was in the boxes she delivered, but she took me to meet the Headmistress, whose name was Mary, and who told me as we conversed over a light morning tea, that the orphanage was always accepting of volunteers. My interest was immediately piqued as I do love working with children. I inquired as to what sorts of duties her volunteer staff are responsible for performing. Her paid staff members are the ones directly responsible for the care of the children, but the volunteers are of invaluable assistance in performing tasks in other areas of the orphanage such as administrative work, helping teach the children their lessons, and other innumerable projects. I asked immediately to become a volunteer. As I was introducing myself, she cut me off, stating that before I agreed, there were several things of which I should first be aware.

She has some very specific rules which at first sound odd and even ludicrous, but with further explanation, are quite sensible, enacted for the protection of the very few titled men and women who attend to the orphanage directly, and not through charitable donations. The orphanage is not in the best part of town, and it would be easy, she says, for persons of a rather unsavory character to attempt to apprehend a person of apparent wealth in order to attempt to gain riches in an illegal manner. It would not do for a titled person to be subjected to such ill works as such a happening could mean the demise of the orphanage, and the children would be forced to seek a living on the streets.

Her first rule is that all adults, be they staff or volunteers are addressed by their first name, with the addition of Mister or Miss in front of them, regardless of marital status, or any other consideration. This, she says, keeps everyone from treating any one person with special regard. Her thoughts are, and I must say I cannot disagree with them, that each person in this world is to be regarded and treated with respect, no matter the accident of one's birth and the privileges that were granted or denied at that time. We all are there to see to the upbringing of the children, and titles, or the lack thereof, have no bearing upon that.

To that end, she has another rule that all staff and volunteers dress plainly, in dark colors, and in clothing made of wool, cotton, or muslin. This is in large part for the protection of the volunteers, so that no one may single out someone of wealth, but it is also quite practical in that those fabrics are durable and long-lasting, and the colors will not show wear or dirt as quickly as their lighter counterparts.

She also asks that, whatever our means, that we arrive on foot or in wagons. After all, to be seen arriving in a carriage bearing a ducal crest would utterly and completely undermine all the protections and precautions created by all the previous measures.

I found her rules to be quite sensible and perfectly agreeable. She asked only my first name, in keeping with her rules. She did point out that as Headmistress, she would accept more information than that from me, should I wish to share it, but it was entirely left to my discretion and comfort. I informed her that I would, of course, be willing to share any such information as she may need, then informed her that I had recently been quite ill, and so might not be able to be put to work straightaway, but perhaps in a week? She agreed readily, and soon after that Sylvia decreed that it was time to go, apologizing again for splashing my gown, and even more profusely than before as she now knew I was not fully well. I assured her that resting with Headmistress Mary had done me very well, and I was quite fine. She asked if I was then well enough to consider driving about town as she was quite intrigued by me and wished to further our acquaintance. I was as eager to get to know her a little better as well, and so I happily agreed.

Frederick, Sylvia is absolutely wonderful! We agreed to maintain our friendship on the first-name-only basis as established by Headmistress Mary. It is so liberating! I cannot quite believe how much easier it is to be friends with someone when I do not have to worry about social status or how to properly address someone or whether I should even be in the company of the person I am with. She is just a few years older than I and is an avid reader who loves children, though she does not yet have any of her own. Her husband is called John and he adores gardening and studies it incessantly she says, with a roll of her eyes, but with a smile of indulgence. They have been married nearly ten years, and are recently come to Bath.

We stopped for a light luncheon at a small restaurant after which she insisted on taking me home as I fear, by then, it was quite obvious that I was very much in need of rest. As I exited the carriage, something in me felt fear that I might never see her again. I cannot explain it, except perhaps to say that I was much more tired than even I myself knew. In a mild panic, I invited her to call the next morning. She readily agreed, which eased my insensible panic immediately. She helped me to the door and handed me over to the butler, with the promise of seeing me tomorrow.

So here, I sit, Frederick, just past lunch time and quite certain that I will sleep through until breakfast. But I would not trade the events of today for any amount of waking activities this afternoon or evening. I feel, somewhere deep within me, that Sylvia will be a true friend, one I will retain for the whole of my life. The only flaw is that I will not be able to introduce her to you.

As always, that remains my one true wish – to see you again and tell you how much I wish we could be together. No one could possibly love you more than your

Anne


	9. In the Caribbean

Frederick looked out over the deck of his ship. Through the cloud of shrieking, diving seagulls escorting the Asp in to port, he could just make out the land. Isla Diablo. Devil's Island. So named because of the spears of land jutting into the sea on either side of a five-and-a-half mile wide natural bay. Anywhere else on the large island, sandy beaches fringed the perimeter, their shores descending gradually into the deeper waters. In Devil's Head Bay, shipyards and marinas crowded the long stretch, taking advantage of the sudden drop of the shoreline just meters away from the shore's edge. These natural, under-water cliffs allowed large ships to sail right up to a dock, their passengers free to come and go as they pleased up and down gangplanks, and not having to rely on being rowed to and fro. The miles-long "horns" embracing the bay protected it from harsh weather conditions, allowing the waters within to remain relatively calm.

It was to a berth within the bay that the Asp was headed. As the land got closer, Frederick allowed his mind to wander, considering the differences between his home and the paradise before him. There was no denying the beauty of the scene ahead. The sea here was fully transparent for several meters down, allowing for magnificently clear views of fish, corals, and other marine life darting about in the brilliant turquoise, azure, and teal waters. He knew from experience that the waters would be as warm and pleasant on his skin as the winds which even now filled the sails. He lifted his face to the sun, basking in its gentle rays.

"No stretch of mind needed to see why people love it here, is there?"

Frederick smiled. "You are right, Thomas. No imagination is necessary to understand the draw of this particular corner of the world. I have at times given serious thought to requesting a transfer here."

"When that happens, please be so kind as to inform me so that I might submit a similar request."

Frederick looked at him quizzically.

"I have no desire to sail under another Captain," Thomas declared.

Frederick could not hide a smile of surprise. "Thank you, Thomas. Your loyalty is very much appreciated."

"I assure you, it is not lightly given, Frederick. You are as fine a friend as any man could ask for and nothing could alter my thoughts and opinions of you personally. But you are a damn fine captain and, casting personal friendships to the side as must be done in situations such as this, that alone is my reason for wishing to follow you."

Frederick was momentarily speechless, and cleared his throat to mask his self-conscious pride at his friend's words. "I … thank you, Thomas. I, too, hold you in highest regards, both personally and professionally. Thus far, there have been no others, aside from my brother and sister, in whom I was ever comfortable confiding my personal affairs.

"And, I must confess, that were I to seriously consider transferring to another home port or if I am assigned to another ship, I would urgently request a similar transfer for you, for I could not ask for a finer lieutenant."

It was Thomas's turn to look away, humbled by the praise. "Thank you," he uttered. "And now, if the Society of Mutual Admiration has adjourned …"

Frederick guffawed.

"You are not going to be requesting a new base port in the Indies?" Thomas inquired.

Frederick breathed deeply, noting how light and dry the air felt in comparison to Britain's most atmosphere. "No," he answered at last. "It is indisputably beautiful, and I fully understand the attraction of settling here." He took another deep breath. "But as enjoyable as it is, I much prefer returning to the shores of England after a long sea voyage."

"I will admit that I am glad to hear it. I, too, am of a mind to enjoy the tropics as a visitor, but, like you, prefer to return home to family and friends. There is something not quite proper about doing without a woolen greatcoat for an entire winter."

"True," Frederick chuckled. "This is indeed a grand place to visit, but it is always just the same as it was before, no matter the time of year I arrive. As nice as the warmth is after the harsh cold of a British winter, I find that I prefer the anticipation of the coming seasons to the constancy of the weather here."

"We seem to be of like mind on a great many subjects," Thomas noted. They silently observed the activity going on around them for several moments. "I would love to show Milly this little section of the world."

"Milly?"

"My fiancée. Of sorts."

Frederick raised his eyebrows in question.

"A friend of my sister's. I may have told you about her? We want to marry, but her parents feel she is a bit young—she recently turned 18—and so have asked us to wait."

"For how long?" Frederick could not keep a touch of derision from his tone.

"Not all families are like that of your Anne," Thomas reminded him softly, understanding his friend's distress. "Her parents are actually very much in favor of the match, but Mildred had only just reached marriageable age and her parents did not want her to marry in haste so soon into her eligibility. They asked that we wait at least a year before making any promises to each other.

"I am impatient—being several years older and with some knowledge of the world, I know that Milly is the woman with whom I wish to share the remaining years of my life. But I understand the concern of her parents. As much as it grieves me to admit, I, too, wish for her to experience more of the things young women should do before settling down in marriage. I would not wish her to marry me now only to suffer her resentment later because she did not get to participate in enough parties and balls and the other events ladies seem to like to attend, or that she had not enough time to meet a greater number of eligible men from which to select her husband." He sighed. "It is a risk, I realize, but one I feel is necessary to take. I would rather be miserable without her than be the cause of her misery. I love her enough to allow her to choose."

"She may choose another."

Thomas grimaced. "That is a chance I must take. I could not be well if she was not happy."

"And if her happiness depends upon someone else?"

Thomas blanched. "Everything within me hopes that is not how my situation will end, and that is as far as I will allow myself to dwell upon it at present."

"I quite understand."

"Yes, I think you must," Thomas agreed. "More than most."

A crash on the deck below jarred them both from their gloomy thoughts. Frederick saw that they had approached the port more quickly than he realized. "Well, Harville, I leave the Asp in your capable hands." He slapped his friend and Lieutenant on the back. "I am headed below to battle the mountains of paper required by my superiors each time we put to land."

Thomas chuckled and saluted before turning to consult with some of the other officers.

Frederick returned the salute and headed below to his quarters to begin the administrative duties that were the bane of his present rank.


	10. Baking Cookies

"They can certainly run a person ragged, can they not?" Sylvia groaned as she dropped into a chair across the table from Anne and wearily pulled over another chair in which to place her feet.

Anne looked at her companion. She was quite exhausted, but oddly invigorated as well. She loved being with the children, and today had been extraordinary. Bath had more than its fair share of rainy days, but they were generally interspersed with a liberal number of fair days. In the past week, Nature had been decidedly contrary and had produced, at last count, six dreary, wet days in succession. On this day, the seventh such soggy day, the children at the orphanage were understandably restless and had begun escalating their discontent at having no outlet for their natural youthful energy to alarming levels, resulting in an increase in the noise level within the various buildings. Some of the older children were able to leave the main house in order to assist various adult staff members with their tasks, but the younger children were left alone, and had grown quite bored with their toys, games, books, and even each other. As a result, Headmistress Mary and her staff were approaching their wits' end trying to keep the children calm and still get their work done.

When six-year-old Steven snatched three-year-old Charlotte's doll from her hands, tearing off her arm in the process, Charlotte let out such a shriek, followed by shrill wails of anger and heartbreak, that those in the room with her found it necessary to cover their ears. Anne scooped up the distraught little girl, while Sylvia snagged the young thief who tried to escape unnoticed out a side door.

"Charlotte, dear, do not fret. We can fix Miss Molly," Anne crooned. "All will be well. Hush now." She hugged the little girl close.

"B-b-but, he tore off her arm! She's dead!" Charlotte buried her face in Anne's neck.

"No, sweetheart, she is not dead. We will fix her up and she will be as good as new. I promise."

"And this little rapscallion," Sylvia indicated Steven, who was hiding his face in her skirts, "can help us."

"But Miss Sylvia, I don't know how to sew."

"Well, there is no better time to learn than now, is there?"

Steven sniffed. "Sewing's women's work," he declared haughtily.

Sylvia raised her eyebrows. " 'Women's work'?" she queried. "And just who made you the Headmaster of All Things who gets to decide who does which tasks."

Chuckles and titters rippled through the room as the other children sat enraptured by the unfolding scene before them.

"Everyone just knows it's women that do the sewing, that's all."

Sylvia looked pointedly at Anne, who just smiled and shook her head. "You and I, Master Steven, are going to have a long talk one day about some of your ideas." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "In the meantime, go and play with the little boys your own age, and try not to break anything." She gave him a light push toward a group of boys in the far corner.

"Well, done, Sylvia," Anne complimented her as she handed Charlotte over. Sylvia took the little girl and sat down in a nearby chair as Anne retrieved a sewing box. In short order, Anne had reattached the doll's arm and presented her to a now-entranced little girl.

"You fixed her!" Charlotte declared. "She's not dead!" She threw herself into Anne's lap.

"No, sweetheart, she's not dead," Anne assured her. "Dolls like Miss Molly are made with special magic that will keep them alive as long as you believe she is."

"She's alive?" the little girl asked in wonder.

"She is as alive as you wish her to be. Even if she's missing an arm or a leg, or if she is in need of a washing or a new dress … as long as you believe she is alive, she will be."

"But don't it hurt?"

"No, it does not," Anne combed the girl's hair with her fingers. "Dolls are not like people. We are flesh and blood, and we feel pain if we are slapped or poked. Dolls are made from cloth and stuffing, which is why they need the special magic to be alive. They will not feel pain if their arm or leg is torn off or if their stuffing starts to fluff out through a tear in their body. But once they have felt alive with the special magic, they will feel pain in their hearts if you stop believing in them just because they look a little differently than before."

Anne had intended her words only for the child's ears, but she was suddenly aware that the room was quiet, with every set of ears straining to hear what she was saying. She blushed at the attention and looked to Sylvia for help, but found her friend as riveted as all the others.

"Truly, Miss Anne? Miss Molly is truly alive?"

"Yes, Charlotte, as long as you believe she is."

"Then why doesn't she walk and talk?"

"That is the special magic. All magic has rules, and the magic for dolls is that they cannot walk and talk as long as there are human people around to see."

"Really?" asked one of the listening children.

"Oh, yes," Anne affirmed. "As long as you cannot see them doing so, they can walk and talk about, the same as you or I." Anne lowered her voice conspiratorially, but still so all could hear her. "If you are extremely quiet and exceptionally sneaky you may, one day, quite possibly stumble across them before they leap back to the places where they were when you left them."

"Ooohh," came the wondrous response.

"Really?" whispered Charlotte in awe.

"Yes. But it is very rare. The special magic lets the dolls know when you are coming, even if they cannot see you. I wonder, though, have you ever gone looking for your toys and found that they were not where you left them?"

The children, and even some adults, nodded, transfixed by Anne's story.

"Have you ever wondered why the doll you left on your pillow was suddenly at the foot of your bed? Or why the soldiers you left lined up by the toy chest were now all toppled over?"

Nodding heads bobbed like ocean waves and the listeners leaned forward eagerly, not willing to miss a single word.

"Those are the times when you almost got there before the magic warned the toys! You see, they are supposed to go back and position themselves in the exact location in precisely the same arrangement they were in when you left them. If they are out of place when you get there, it means you were doing an excellent job of sneaking up on them, because they were not able to get back to their original positions before you got to them!"

Everyone gasped. It was obvious that the children had ideas of sneaking up on their toys trying to see them move about like humans.

"But you must remember," Anne cautioned, "you must believe that they are alive in order for it to happen, even if you are never able to see it for yourselves." She looked out over her rapt audience. "Do you promise to believe, and to treat your toys with dignity and respect because you know they are alive with the special magic?"

All heads nodded eagerly.

"Well done, all of you," Sylvia broke in. "It is good to see you make such an agreement. And you must keep your promise, you know. The special magic connects you with your toys even if you are not in the room with them, so they will know of the promise you just made."

More nods of heads with eyes wide with wonder at all they had just learned.

"Now," Sylvia began, "when I was a little girl, and I had had something upsetting happen to me, my mother would dry my tears, attend to the problem, and we would enjoy a treat together."

A gasp. "Treat?" asked several children in unison. "What kind of treat?"

"Nothing really special. Just what she had already made that week. Maybe a piece of cake and some tea. Or bread with jelly. My favorites were her cookies with some fresh milk."

"Cookies?" repeated a couple of boys wistfully.

"Yes, cookies," Sylvia confirmed. "Perhaps we could share an early treat, given the recent upset. I think that definitely warrants a treat of a cookie or two and some milk. Do not you agree, Anne?"

"Oh, I certainly do," she agreed but was looking worriedly at Headmistress Mary. The children were getting excited about having cookies, but Anne feared that might not be such a good idea. "But perhaps another idea …"

Sylvia had caught Anne's meaning. "Oh, I see. Perhaps I spoke too soon. Let me think." After a moment, she rose and approached the Headmistress. A few minutes later, the two ladies returned, both beaming. "Children," Sylvia said loudly to get the children's attention. "It seems we do not have cookies in the pantry." The room was immediately silent with disappointment. "However …," with a grin at Mary, she continued, enjoying teasing the children by dragging out her announcement. "Headmistress Mary says that we may undertake the baking of our own cookies!"

The roar of excited children leaping to their feet was deafening. They were jumping for joy and squealing with glee. Charlotte scrambled off Anne's lap to join her friends in the celebration. Anne joined Sylvia and Mary, and they left the children in the capable hands of the other adults while they adjourned to another room to discuss the details of the impromptu activity.

What followed was a fun-filled though thoroughly exhausting, day of measuring, stirring, cutting, baking, and decorating dozens and dozens of cookies. Each child got to participate in each step of the baking process, which made the activity last much longer than if they had not been there. But the activity lasted well into the afternoon, and not a single cross word was exchanged among the children for the entire day. Those who had gone to work in other areas of the orphanage were pleasantly surprised at the tasty treats, and equally astounded that the children themselves had made them.

Now Sylvia, Anne, and several others were wearily resting their feet and bodies in chairs scattered about the kitchen, which was moderately clean. Anne and Sylvia both felt that the children needed to learn that cleaning up was as much a part of the baking of cookies as the preparation and decorating, and they had done a commendable job of it—for children.

"Miss Rachel," Anne addressed the orphanage's lead cook. "I do apologize for the state of your kitchen. If you give me a moment or two, I shall help—" she stopped.

"Anne?" Sylvia inquired.

"How many times did the clock just chime?" Anne asked of the grandfather clock in the main hall.

"It be three-thirty, Miss Anne," Miss Rachel answered, consulting the little watch she kept pinned under her collar.

Anne jumped up. "My word! Where did the time go! Miss Rachel, I do hope you will forgive me, but I have an engagement this evening and I must go. My family will be quite vexed with me as it is for being out this late."

"Think nothing of it, Miss Anne. We had a passel of fun here today, the likes of which we hadn't seen in a while. It was a fine idea, and the kitchen ain't in such bad shape. We can get the kitchen set to how we like it in a quick way. Never you mind about that."

Anne grasped the cook's hands gratefully. "Thank you," she replied. "Thank you for everything. I, too, had a marvelous time today." She gave Miss Rachel a quick embrace then headed toward the main hall to get her wrap.

"Anne, wait, please. I shall go with you, if you do not mind." Sylvia turned to Miss Rachel. "I have just remembered that I am hosting a party tonight, Miss Rachel. I do not wish to leave just now, but I fear I must."

Miss Rachel assured Sylvia that there was nothing with which to concern herself, and shooed both ladies out, bidding them off to their engagements. Moments later, in a wagon from the stable, the two ladies were being driven a few blocks away where they might hire a chair or cab to get to their homes. They decided to share a cab as Anne's home was only slightly out of the way on the route to Sylvia's home.

"I must say, Anne, that story you told was just the perfect thing today," Sylvia praised her friend.

Anne blushed. "I was just telling them the story I loved most to hear my mother tell me. I always found it fascinating, the idea that another world could exist right beneath my own eyes, if I would just take the time to watch for it. That is all I did—shared an intriguing idea with the children."

"But to do it in such a way…you were truly captivating, Anne. Surely, you must have sensed it."

"I did realize that the children seemed to enjoy it."

"Enjoy? They were utterly spellbound!"

"Well, 'twas not I who suggested baking cookies. Were you to ask me, I would say that that activity vastly outweighed my little story in popularity."

"Why will you not accept your part for the day's success?" Sylvia asked with interest.

"I truly did so little," Anne stated. "I shared an idea, a few words. That is all. The remarkable activity of the day was the treat of baking cookies. I truly feel that many of those children had never done such a thing before."

"I daresay none of them had," Sylvia agreed, "but they adapted to it quite well, did they not?"

"Yes," Anne smiled. "They certainly did."

They had arrived at Anne's home and so they said their farewells, agreeing to meet again in a few days' time to travel back to the orphanage together. As the cab pulled away, Anne stood a moment on the walk in front of the house. If she was lucky, her tardiness would go unnoticed by her family, as so many other things about her did. She did not think she would get her wish tonight, however. The evening's ball was being hosted by the Earl and Countess Ducheyne, and, ever the one for titles and appearances, her father would want all of his family properly represented.

Over and above her usual protestations about attending balls and other such social events, Anne did not want to go tonight because she was really and truly exhausted and her feet hurt immensely. Walking and standing all day on the hard kitchen floor, corralling a dozen or more children through the various stages of making cookies, and taking her turns over the hot stove had taken its toll, and she was ready to dress informally and relax at home. An evening of standing about, talking about nothing with absolute strangers, while hoping no one would ask her to dance, was not how she wanted to spend her time tonight.

The door opened and Elizabeth appeared at the top of the stairs. "If you would please deign to come in and prepare yourself, we should like to arrive on time this evening," she demanded with disdain, her eyes coldly taking in Anne's simple clothes, covered now in flour, frosting, and any manner of ingredients found in a cookie recipe. Elizabeth returned to the house, closing the door behind her.

Anne took a deep fortifying breath, then moved up the stairs. Tonight would not be enjoyable, but perhaps her family would be so giddy over having met an Earl and a Countess, that she could rest, forgotten, for several days. Perhaps not, but it was a thought worth considering. She braced her shoulders and walked inside.


	11. An Earl and a Countess

Anne stifled a sigh, not wanting to draw any further attention to herself. She had pled to three sets of deaf ears that she preferred not to attend tonight's event, that she was overly tired from her day's activities, and much preferred a quiet night of rest to recover.

"It is your own fault," her sister had admonished. "If you would choose to spend your time in more fruitful efforts, then perhaps you would not require quite so much rest."

"I will not have the Elliot family misrepresented," Sir Elliot decreed. "We have received an invitation from an Earl and a Countess," he emphasized the titles, "and we shall pay our respects properly. If we are lucky, they will remember us."

Elizabeth tittered in excitement at the thought. "Would that not be wonderful, Father? To be included on the invitation list of an Earl and a Countess? Imagine the possibilities!"

"Yes, yes. Surely they cannot overlook another titled family. Especially in the society of Bath which is not as grand as that of London."

Anne was attempting to escape unnoticed upstairs, a plan that had worked many times in the past as her father and sister tended to forget about her when they became enraptured in their plans and fantasies. She may have succeeded but for Lady Russell who had been standing silently among them. She reminded Sir Walter and Elizabeth to begin their preparations for the evening, then accompanied Anne up the stairs. "What do you do with your mornings, Anne, dear? What has you so tired this afternoon?"

"You know I work at the orphanage, Lady Russell. This morning, there was an emergency of sorts that required much more energy and effort than that we are accustomed to expending, and which also caused us to lose track of the hours, so that we left much later than we usually do. That is why I am just now returning home. I really would much prefer to spend my evening at home," she pleaded once again, in vain.

"Perhaps you might be permitted leave the ball early, after a suitable length of time, of course; most assuredly after the dinner. But we really must all be in attendance as the invitation was accepted on behalf of the entire family, and it is, after all, being hosted—"

"—by an Earl and a Countness…" Anne finished for her. She wanted desperately to roll her eyes. "Yes, I understand. I shall just plan to quit the ball early."

"Thank you, dear, for your cooperation. I have had your maid lay out a dress for you. You will be stunning in it, I am certain." Lady Russell smiled and fondly caressed Anne's cheek before retiring to her own chambers down the hall.

Anne's shoulders drooped and she pushed the door open with a sigh. She barely glanced at the dress laid out on her bed as she fell into the armchair beside the fireplace and gingerly placed her feet on the ottoman, groaning in agonized pleasure as she at last was able to relieve them of their load. She might have remained that way all evening, but for her maid entering a few minutes later.

Nancy pulled up a stool next to the ottoman and began removing her mistress's serviceable boots. Anne, who had slipped into a light doze, awoke at the disturbance.

"Oh, Nancy, I can do that," she protested sleepily, but did not move.

" 'Tis no problem, Miss. I'm nearly done." Nancy finished untying the second boot, then gently removed them.

Anne groaned in pleasure. "That feels wonderful!"

Nancy smiled. "What did ye do today, Miss?"

Anne returned the smile. "The rain had made the children restless and argumentative, so we baked cookies. Dozens and dozens and dozens of cookies."

"Laws, Miss! 'Tis no wonder your feet ache so. That's hard on your body, it is, all that standing and putting sheets in and out of the stove. But it was always worth it in the end, I always thought."

"And it was, Nancy. It surely was. We had about a dozen or so children and they all helped in every part of the process, which did nothing to shorten the time. But they had so much fun! It was surely worth it."

"I'm glad, Miss. Them as has no mum to bake cookies with still getting to do it … well, that's just special, it is."

"I hope they all think so, Nancy. It was special for me." Anne gazed into the fire for a few minutes. "My dress," she rolled her head around to look at Nancy. "Which dress has been selected for me?"

Nancy winced. "I'm thinking you won't like it, Miss." She lifted up the gown that Lady Russell had chosen for Anne.

Anne shook her head. Lady Russell had never quite understood that Anne's coloring was not like hers and Elizabeth's. They were both dark haired and had pale complexions that were set off beautifully by deep, bold colors: emerald greens, ruby reds, onyx blacks. Anne much preferred more natural colors; her rich brown hair and sun-kissed skin were better served by rosy pinks, apricot oranges, or buttercup yellows. The vividly purple gown with lavender and white trim would leach all the color from Anne's skin, making her appear wan and sickly. She did not wish to attend the ball tonight, but, seeing she had no other choice in the matter, she was determined not to appear as someone who was on her deathbed. She sent a pleading look to Nancy, whose mischievous grin gave her hope.

"It's a beautiful gown, Miss."

"There is no denying that it is, indeed, a gown beyond words. The workmanship and design are exquisite. But for me, I think, it is quite dreadful. I do not think I could consider leaving this house, nay, this room, while adorned in a gown such as that. I would be whisked off to a hospital straight away should anyone see me attired in this."

Nancy giggled. "If you don't mind me saying so, Miss, I thought that you might not like it." She placed the gown back on the bed and moved to Anne's wardrobe. "So I had this one readied for tonight as well, just in case." She pulled out a gown Anne loved but had never worn. It was of peach silk with pale orange lace trim around the neckline and sleeves. A wide ribbon sash of the same pale orange topped a sheer overskirt embroidered with tiny peach blossoms. Pale orange elbow-length gloves and stockings completed the ensemble, along with shoes that had been dyed to precisely match the peach silk. It was a simple design, but stunning in its elegance. She had planned to wear it the night her engagement to Frederick was announced. That had not happened, but she had never been quite able to summon up the courage to dispose of the dress.

"I do not know, Nancy. This dress …"

"Forgive my boldness, Miss, but this dress is perfect for you, and perfect for a ball at an Earl's house." She laid it gently on the bed, and reclaimed her seat on the ottoman. "I know you were saving it for someone special, Miss, but, begging your pardon, if you ever meet up with him again, you should have a new dress made. This one was for that man in the past. If you ever meet him again, it shouldn't be in a dress you made before you got separated. It should be a new dress to stand for the happiness of seeing him again … or for finally being rid of him, if that's how it turns out."

Anne stared at Nancy for a few moments, blinking back tears as she processed her maid's words of advice. They were sensible words, without a doubt. "Nancy, you are a very wise woman." Nancy beamed. "I shall wear this dress tonight. Thank you so much for your insight and instinct, and for having another dress prepared. I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate your efforts on my behalf tonight. If I had known, I would have brought you some cookies as a token of my appreciation."

Nancy blushed at the praise. " 'Twas no problem at all, Miss."

"Tell me, Nancy. Do I have time for a brief rest or nap?"

The maid thought for a moment. "Well, cook's making trays for everyone to have a light dinner in their rooms while they're getting ready. I'm to help Miss Elizabeth with her hair, and she'll have something stunning and complicated, I'm sure." She gazed at the dress as she planned for Anne. "Your hair should be as simple and elegant as the gown, I think. Pulled back, some flowers, a ribbon…'twould not take much time at all." She looked at Anne. "I think, Miss, that if I were to get your bath ready first, you could eat while it's being prepared, then rest while the others are getting ready. After I finish your sister's hair, I could wake you, if you fall asleep, then help you get ready, with a fast but elegant hair style that will perfectly match your dress. Knowing them, Miss," she pointed at the door, "you'll still be the first one ready. Meaning no disrespect, Miss."

Anne smiled. "I understand, Nancy, and you are likely correct. I like your plan. Would you mind having my tray brought up immediately and ordering my bath? If I bathe quickly, I would be able to rest that much longer, and I feel ready to collapse right this moment."

Nancy hurried to the door. "I'll get started on it straight away, Miss. Don't you worry about a thing!"

Anne had rested for nearly an hour before it was absolutely imperative that she begin her preparations for the ball. Even so, as Nancy had predicted, Anne was still the first one ready, but she used the time wisely, arranging for the carriage to be brought around and making sure everyone's cloaks or wraps were on hand, before sitting down to read for a bit while awaiting the others.

Now, in the receiving line, Anne was stifling yawns, already bored, mentally calculating how long she must stay before she could politely leave. She was half-listening to her father and sister admiring the entryway in low but awestruck tones, and had turned to answer a question Lady Russell had asked her when she heard their names announced. Without paying attention to the people in front of her, she made her curtsy, her one thought, now that she had been introduced, was to find a chair … in a corner … behind a potted plant … hopefully, a very large potted plant. She nearly toppled over in surprise as someone cried out her name and pulled her into an embrace. She pulled back to see the face of the one who greeted her so effusively, and her eyes widened in astonishment.

"Sylvia?"

Sylvia nodded enthusiastically. "Anne, I did not know!" She shrugged. "Well, of course, I could not have known, but I am delighted to know now! Oh, this is wonderful!" She turned to Sir Walter. "You do not mind if I steal your daughter from you this evening do you, Sir Walter?"

Bewildered, dumbfounded and unable to hide it, Sir Walter naturally agreed, with another deep bow, "Of course, not, Your Ladyship. You may, of course, avail yourself of any of my family at any time you wish. Might I also recommend my lovely Elizabeth for your conversation?" He tugged at his eldest daughter's arm to present her again to the Countess. "She is quite learned and has many appropriate opinions on a vast number of topics."

Sylvia's brow raised in astonishment. "Thank you Sir Walter, Miss Elliot, but I have a great many things to discuss with my friend Anne after my husband and I are finished greeting our guests. Might we postpone our conversation until a later time? Perhaps one afternoon over tea?"

"But, of course, Your Ladyship," Sir Walter acquiesced with a bow, but the Countess had already turned to greet her next guests, and the Elliot party were shuffled off into the ballroom. Before turning her attention to the Countess's guests, Anne saw her father and sister looking first disgruntled at the Countess. Then her father caught sight of her, remembered that she was his daughter, and brightened, and began fantasizing with Elizabeth of the wonderful connections he now had. Elizabeth's countenance brightened considerably as well when guests began approaching them to ask of the relationship between them and the DuCheynes.

When at last the final guest had been welcomed, Sylvia linked elbows with Anne and guided her on a slow, meandering route through mingling guests, introducing Anne to a vast number of friends and acquaintances. An hour, more or less, had passed since the friends had discovered each other's identity when they found themselves relatively alone.

"Anne, do your feet hurt as painfully as mine do?"

Anne smiled. "Dreadfully so, though I hate to admit to it."

"Why?" Sylvia asked. "You worked hard today. Your feet should hurt. And your back, and your shoulders, …"

Anne chuckled. "You are correct. I must admit to nearly begging to abstaining from attending tonight's festivities because the morning's activities had been so exhausting. My pleas fell on deaf ears, as you well determined by my presence before you."

"Well, for my sake, I am quite pleased that they did not let you forego the pleasure of this ball."

"It was not to be heard of," Anne explained. "'A ball given by an Earl and a Countess!'" Anne's tone lightly mocked that of her family. "To entertain even the notion of not attending was well beyond the bounds of propriety as defined and interpreted by the members of my family. It mattered not that there would likely be so many people attending, hoping to gain the favor of said Earl and Countess that the hosts would never be able to remember everyone, much less note the absence of one particularly unmemorable member of a family that, in general, tends to have a better opinion of themselves than is completely warranted."

Sylvia raised her eyebrows, giving Anne a look of disbelief.

Anne shook her head apologetically. "I do apologize. I am being uncharacteristically harsh in describing my family. I should not behave in such a manner."

Sylvia attempted to hold back a smile, amused by Anne's words. "Harsh? I think not. From what I remember of them in that interminable receiving line, I would think your description of them is fairly accurate. But, if you insist upon it, your apology is accepted," she hastily added when Anne began to protest. "I do think you have quite the majority of the rest of them fairly accurately described as well. Getting in on the good side of the Earl and Countess of DuCheyne and be invited to the best balls, greatest concerts, and whatever else there is you can think of to do." She leaned in close to Anne. "Shall I share a secret with you?"

Anne nodded.

"The joke is on them. John and I host an event or two while we are here for the express reason that we do not enjoy doing all the other things most of the population seems to think are entertaining. Those which we do enjoy, we would rather be among the company of just ourselves or our closest of friends.

"So, you see, Anne, all those minds out there, eagerly spinning fantasies of being in the privileged company of high ranking society … well, let me end the speculation on your part at least by saying that of everyone attending tonight, there are but two, perhaps three, with whom John and I will be doing anything on a regular basis. And, to put a stop to the questioning thoughts you are likely having but are too polite to mention, you are among those few. And the fact that you wondered, but did not ask outright, is among the many reasons why you will be so "honored" to be the particular friend of this Countess.

"But, why are we discussing this out here? We are both nearly dead on our feet and should be sitting somewhere comfortable, not standing about like ninnies. Oh, my, here comes Lord and Lady Townsend – definitely not on our list of intimate friends. Wave, Anne, smile, and come with me." She led Anne through a door and firmly shut it behind her, turning the lock with a decisive click. "There. I do not expect that anyone would be rude enough to actually follow us in here – it is a private room, after all, and obviously not open for the party – but one can never tell what others might do to curry favor with those they perceive to be better than themselves simply because of a title preceding their name."

The ladies smiled conspiratorially at each other, then allowed themselves to fall unceremoniously and quite without decorum into overstuffed armchairs.

"Oh, Anne, this does feel heavenly!" Sylvia declared with a groan. "Whoever can invent shoes that are actually comfortable to wear for more than an hour at a time will be rich beyond words for several lifetimes." She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes, sighing in relief.

Anne smiled, though she did not allow herself the liberty of removing her shoes outside the privacy of her own chambers. "It does feel quite nice to be off my feet, even for just a few moments. I must admit that my goal was to find a secluded corner behind a screen or a potted tree in which to hide until the earliest possible time I could safely and politely excuse myself for the evening. I was quite against coming tonight," Anne finished her confession softly. "But I will amend my original desire to say that I am quite pleased that I did come tonight after all, even if it was under duress. I am very happy to know that my good friend from the orphanage is the Countess of— I mean, that I am glad that you are my friend—I mean …" Anne's shoulders slumped as she realized that she could not think of way to properly explain her meaning.

Sylvia waved off Anne's awkwardness. "Do not trouble yourself, my dear. I understand what you are trying to say. I, too, am quite delighted to know you apart from our time at the orphanage. We have gotten on quite well together; it will be nice to explore furthering our acquaintance beyond our time with the children."

Satisfied that Sylvia had not taken offense at her words, Anne smiled. "Yes, that is precisely what I was intending to say. I, too, would like to get to know you better in situations beyond that of our volunteer work."

The two women chatted for several minutes about their work at the orphanage and their morning's activities. Engrossed in their conversation, neither heard someone enter the room from a door opposite to the one in which they had entered and locked. For a long moment, the newcomer silently watched the two ladies sprawled in somewhat unladylike positions as they conversed.

"You are not enjoying your party, my dear?" he finally asked.

The women jumped, startled by the abrupt interruption. "Oh, John," Sylvia admonished with a chuckle and a sigh, "you are a devil!"

He chuckled softly as he raised her hand to kiss the back of her fingers. "Indeed, I am, my dear." They gazed lovingly at each other for a moment. He released her hand and fell back onto the couch between the two chairs. He, too, toed off his shoes and turned to recline on the length of the sofa, propping his head up on one of the arms. "Ahhh, that feels better!" Like his wife, his toes enjoyed a moment of freedom and wiggling. "I thought I might find you in here. I do not understand why you insist on having these gatherings when you do not care for them any more than I do."

Sylvia smiled fondly at her husband. "I do not mind them. I just wish they did not have to last so long."

He chuckled again and turned to Anne. "If my guess is correct, you are Anne, my wife's cohort in helping orphaned youngsters create confectionary delights this morning."

"You are most definitely correct, John," Sylvia informed him. "My dear friend Anne is, as I learned for the first time tonight, Miss Anne Elliot, daughter of Sir Walter Elliot.

"Anne, this is my husband and the Earl of DuCheyne, John Ashton. You will both be delighted to learn that none of us in this room cares overmuch for titles."

"Good," John declared. "Then, Miss Anne, I hope you will forgive me if we forego the socially accepted bow and curtsy? My feet really are killing me!"

Anne nodded. "Of course, Lord DuCheyne."

"Oh, let us have done with that here and now. I am John, she is Sylvia, and you are Anne," he pointed to each of them in turn, "and that was the last time I want to hear you refer to me," he pointed at himself again, "as Lord Anyone. Understand?"

Anne nodded with a meek smile.

"Good. I truly do not care about my title. At least, not in the way most of society does. But it does have its benefits and, having never been without it or the promise of it as the oldest son, I would not want to give it up, as it does have its advantages."

Anne's look turned quizzical.

"I can be as eccentric as I desire and no one questions it. 'Oh, that's just Lord DuCheyne, fiddling around with his plants.' Were I low enough by society's standards, I'd be seen as tilling the soil to earn a living. Between 'low' and titled, it would be quite out of the ordinary and I might be reduced to pursuing my botanical studies as a mere hobby – and possibly a secret one at that. But being this high on the food chain, so to speak, I have the freedom to do as I choose and it is seen as an eccentric quirk rather than a necessity or an abnormality. As long as it is not deemed that I am," his voice hushed to a whisper, "in trade," he raised his voice back to normal, "I can either work until there is no flesh remaining on my fingers or gamble my fortune away. Either choice is deemed socially acceptable so long as I have a title to back up my eccentricities." He looked at the women. "Now what kind of sense does that make, I ask you?"

Astonished, Anne merely shook her head. Sylvia, who had heard this rant many times before, smiled indulgently at her husband's antics and watched Anne's reaction carefully.

John continued," Another freedom I have is in the choosing of my friends and the degree of companionship I wish to bestow. Depending on my level of tolerance for various beings, I can be as formal, or as informal, as I like, according to my whim. And you," he pointed at Anne, "are one with whom I shall offer the highest degree of informality."

"But we have only just been introduced," protested Anne.

"Perhaps. But I am an eccentric, remember?" he grinned satisfactorily. "Besides, anyone who would stay on her feet all day, breaking her back, and surely stretching her patience to the limit helping a bunch of bedraggled orphans make a few cookies with my Sylvia, then, that same evening, attend one of Sylvia's never-ending balls deserves nothing less than entry to our inner sanctum.

"It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear. I do hope that we shall see more of you in our home, on any day of the week, at any hour of the day." He turned a serious gaze her way. "I do mean that, Anne. You need no invitation to visit us. If ever we are not here when you arrive, you will still be welcomed as a member of the family. I will instruct our staff of that first thing in the morning."

Anne blushed and smiled. "Thank you. I am honored."

John returned her shy smile with a warm one of his own. "It is a pleasure, my dear." He stood and reached out a hand to help her to her feet. He grasped her hand between both of his. "Sylvia has spoken so much of you these past weeks, that I am not only much impressed by your actions, but I feel as if we are old friends already. I do hope you will be a frequent visitor."

Anne nodded, and curtsied. "I shall, Lord Du—" she cut herself off at his chastising look. Dipping her head, she corrected, "I shall, … John."

He beamed. "That is much better." He extended one hand to his wife. Then, with one lady on each arm, he led them to the door. "Now, my dear, we have a houseful of guests who are by now likely wondering where their errant hosts are and about to begin a stampede in the hopes of being the first to discover us. I feel it is in the best interests of our health and our house to return to the festivities taking place, and resume our time with our lovely Anne in the morning."

"Yes, that is a wonderful idea!" Sylvia agreed enthusiastically. "Anne, are you free for breakfast in the morning?"

"So early? Are you certain?" Anne wondered.

"Of course!" Sylvia assured her. "We are not scheduled to go to the orphanage tomorrow, and neither John nor I ever plans to do anything the day after a ball. Tomorrow would be the perfect time to begin accelerating our acquaintanceship beyond the rules and structure and children of the orphanage. Please say you will join us tomorrow."

"May I extend my own entreaty for your company as well, Anne? As Sylvia mentioned, we have no fixed engagements tomorrow as we always allow for a day of recuperation after a ball. Our day will be quite relaxed and informal, and it would be delightful to have you join us."

Bewildered, Anne just stared at them for a moment. She had never really had true friends of her own. Not like this. It seemed that up until now, friendships were primarily a means for the parties involved to promote themselves or gain stature in the eyes of society. She could not recollect anyone offering to want to spend time with her for the simple reason of sharing her company. And that could be the only reason. Sylvia and John were already titled and wealthy. Her status by way of her father's title could not be of any use to them in any way. And Sylvia knew enough of Anne to know that she did not aspire to rise socially at all, and so was not attempting to befriend them for selfish reasons. She groaned. Her family, however, had no thoughts but to use Anne's friendship with such high-ranking peers for their own prestige and social gain.

"I am sorry," Anne began.

Sylvia's face fell. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Do we displease you?" John asked curiously.

Oh, no! Not at all," Anne hastened to assure them. "It is I, I fear, who will come to displease you."

"Never," declared John.

"Whatever do you mean?" Sylvia wanted to know.

Anne's shoulders drooped. "My family," she said apologetically. "They are entranced by rank and position, and are, even now, plotting ways to use what they perceive as their connection to you through me to enhance their social status while in Bath this season. They will view any invitation extended to me as inclusive of them by relation. I cannot subject you to their manners. I am so sorry." Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted very much to maintain her friendship with Sylvia and get to know John, but she needed more to protect them from the attitudes and affectations of her father and sister, and to a lesser degree, Lady Russell.

Sylvia pulled Anne into her embrace. For the briefest of moments, Anne thought of Mrs. Tompkins, and how she would console Anne in her moments of despair. "My dear, you are indeed among the greatest of our friends. We sincerely appreciate your willingness to protect us from your family, and the warning is duly noted."

Anne felt John's warm hand on her back. "But we have been dealing with that kind of attitude for many years, now, and will not have any trouble assuring that they understand to whom an invitation is issued and how far their supposed connection to us does or does not extend."

Sylvia pulled back and framed Anne's face with her hands. "He does have fun putting people in their place," she told Anne with a delighted grin. "Please say you will join us tomorrow? We will send a carriage for you at nine."

Anne looked from one hopeful, welcoming face to the other. How could she refuse such an offer of friendship and support? She found she could not and nodded her acquiescence. "I shall be ready and eagerly anticipating our time together."

Sylvia pulled her again into a hug, and John beamed triumphantly before bowing to them.

"Well, then, ladies, shall we rejoin our guests?"

Sylvia dabbed at Anne's unshed tears with her handkerchief before nodding to John. "Yes, my dear, let us resume our hosting duties."

John opened the door with a flourish and followed the ladies out of the library, only to stop in his tracks to keep from running into his wife.

There, just outside the door stood the overly delighted members of Anne's family, ready to pounce upon their newfound connection to the season's highest ranked members of Bath's society.


	12. Breakfast

"How luxurious do you think the coach will be, Father?"

Anne stopped short just outside the door of the morning room, struck by the odd sensation of hearing her sister's voice so early in the morning. Elizabeth never got up before noon the day after a party such as the one they had attended the night before. Anne shook her head, certain her imagination was causing her to hear things.

"I should imagine it is very luxurious, indeed."

Anne's eyes widened in amazement at the response. That had sounded remarkably like … she peered into the room … her father? And, yes, there was Elizabeth. They were perched at the windows like hawks, keeping watch on the street below them. "…brass, certainly, perhaps even gold, or gold-plated fittings. Only the best, of that I am certain," continued her father.

"It will be ever so lovely! How dashing to be seen in such a coach," crooned Elizabeth.

"We should be the talk of the Season!" Sir Walter shuddered slightly in excitement at the thought.

Anne moved to the windows to see the wondrous vehicle of which they were speaking for herself. She saw nothing but a few early morning walkers and a man speaking with the driver of a hired cab several doors down the street. "I see no coach," she offered.

"Of course not," Elizabeth snapped at her. "He has yet to arrive."

"Who?"

"Who?" Sir Walter turned incredulous eyes to his younger daughter. "Who? She asks 'who,' when it is she who has arranged his invitation!" He looked at Elizabeth, who laughed loudly, as they shared their amusement at Anne's obvious lack of intelligence.

"You speak of the Earl?"

"Well, of course, I mean the Earl," Sir Walter quipped impatiently. "Whoever else could I possibly mean?"

"And you … are expecting to accompany me this morning?" Anne asked uncertainly. She had been looking forward to a morning with her friends, free from the oppressive airs of her family.

"Accompany you?" asked Elizabeth in disbelief. She huffed. "I cannot think that an Earl would invite you without meaning the invitation to be extended to the entire family. It would be impolite for him not to expect us all to go, and horribly improper for us not to accept. It is not everyone who gets asked to a private meal with an Earl and a Countess." She sighed their titles reverently. "Father, what do you suppose they will have on the menu?"

"It is certain to be elaborate. Bacon, sausage, ham … gravies … an assortment of breads and cheeses … jellies and jams … fruit of every kind … eggs … chocolate, juice, coffee, tea … maybe even champagne!"

Elizabeth looked giddy at the prospect of such a sumptuous feast as she resumed her lookout at the window.

"Spirits for breakfast, Father?" Anne questioned, sitting at her writing desk to address the letter she had written to Mrs. Tompkins a few days earlier.

Impatiently, Sir Walter turned to his daughter. He scanned her attire with displeasure. "Anne, you are not appropriately dressed," he declared. "You must change at once. You are not fit to be seen in the company of an Earl." He made shooing motions with his hands toward the door.

Anne looked down over her simple day gown; it was a favorite of hers—serviceable, comfortable, yet pretty—made of lightweight wool, and pale brown in color. She had several ribbons she could use as sashes, each giving the dress a slightly different feel, depending on her mood. Today, she had favored deep emerald green trim. Her Spencer was made of similar fabric, though darker brown in color to match several different gowns. "I most certainly will not change. I am appropriately dressed for a private breakfast with friends."

"Must I remind you that our hosts are an Earl and a Countess?"

"An Earl and a Countess," Elizabeth emphasized in rapturous tones.

Anne rolled her eyes and began pulling on her gloves. Hopefully, John would arrive soon. If not, she would leave a note for him with the footman and begin walking to his house, not caring if the walk required her to walk clear through two counties to get there.

"Such titled people could not possibly be your friends," Elizabeth continued. "They are obviously using you for something. But I cannot imagine what as you have no money, no connections … Why would they choose you to befriend?" Elizabeth returned her attention to the scene outside the window after delivering her offhand remark.

Anne recoiled as if she had been hit in the stomach. She did not know what hurt more—her sister's hurtful words or the fact that Elizabeth obviously thought that Anne was not amiable enough to cultivate friendships with those who did not have ulterior motives.

"Let's start with she has a kind and generous nature, a heart of gold, and respect for the feelings of others, shall we?"

Startled, the room's occupants turned to see a plainly dressed man lounging against the door jamb. He wore a forest green wool coat over a muslin shirt buttoned to the neck, with no cravat. His fawn breeches were tied at the knee beneath which were serviceable, thick woolen stockings, and scuffed, though serviceable, shoes. His outfit was quite appropriate for both the time of day and the weather, and was in stark contrast to the silk, laces, and intricate cravat currently adorning the figures of two of the room's occupants.

Sir Walter drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at the intruder—a remarkable feat as the visitor was obviously several inches taller. "Who are you and how came you to be in my home? Remove yourself at once, man, or I shall have you forcibly evicted!"

The man took his time peeling himself from the door and rising to his full height. He sauntered over to Sir Walter and looked down at him a moment before bending to look him straight in the eye. "I do believe I am expected," he ground out through clenched teeth before abruptly turning his back on the blustering Sir Walter and crossing the room to stand before Anne. He raised her hand to his lips. "Anne, dear, you look lovely this morning."

Anne smiled. "Thank you, John."

"The Earl!" Elizabeth hissed none too softly to her father in the background.

The spark in John's eyes changed from anger to amusement in a flash as he assisted Anne to her feet. "Are you ready?" he whispered.

Anne had the feeling he meant more than their imminent departure. "Yes," she whispered back.

"Your Lordship," Sir Walter almost sang, each syllable dripping with a desire to please.

John rolled his eyes at Anne before turning to address his host. "Yes?"

"Please forgive me for my abruptness just now. I offer most sincere assurances and deepest apologies that I did not recognize you."

"Did you not?" John replied. "Were you perhaps expecting other company?"

"Why, no, my lord."

"Really?" John replied in disbelief. "You were, then, planning on going out this morning?"

"No, my lord," Sir Walter protested. "Well … that is … I mean …"

"Out with it, man! Are you going out or are you not? You are dressed rather formally for the morning hours. I can only assume you have rather … ornate … plans?"

Anne hid a smile. She, too, had wondered at the wardrobe selections of her father and sister, both dressed as if headed to an afternoon soirée or high tea—more elaborate than was generally required for morning visits, but not as formal as evening attire.

"Well, there is … breakfast?" Sir Walter's voice trailed off into a question. Suddenly, he was not quite as certain of the possibility of an invitation to be driven to the Earl's home for a private breakfast as he was prior to the Earl's unexpected arrival.

"That generally is the first meal of the day," John answered Sir Walter's unintended question. "Though, I must admit that my preference is for less formal clothing so early in the day. It proves, for me, to be much more comfortable."

"Yes, well …" Sir Walter looked at Elizabeth in embarrassment. She hurried to stand beside her father.

"We are in expectation of an invitation this morning, your lordship," she explained ingratiatingly, making it quite obvious that she expected that the invitation would be issued by him.

"Ah," John acknowledged with a nod.

After a strained moment, Anne excused herself to get her reticule and the letter for Mrs. Tompkins. Sir Walter asked John something about the weather.

Elizabeth sidled over to join Anne at the desk. "Anne! Do something!" she hissed.

Anne looked at her sister in astonishment. "What would you have me do?" she inquired. "I am their guest. To ask for you and father to be invited would be as rude as you inviting yourself! I will not infringe on John's and Sylvia's hospitality in such a boorish manner!"

"Do not call them that. It is completely disrespectful!" Elizabeth ordered between clenched teeth. Like her father, she, too, was beginning to feel their morning meal would be taken in a simple Baronet's home, and not that of an Earl.

"The only way Anne could show her disrespect would be for her to not address me by my first name, as she has been explicitly instructed to do." John had apparently run out of things to say about the weather and had left Sir Walter standing alone in the middle of the room. He tucked Anne's arm under his and began guiding her in the direction of the door, stopping in front of Sir Walter. "For when one is among friends," he glanced at Anne's father and sister, "one ought to be able to address each other rather informally. Do you not agree, Sir Walter?"

Anne's father looked excessively hopeful once more. "Of course, your lordship. It would be our extreme pleasure and delight to number you among our friends." He clasped his hands together in anticipation. "May we … may we have the pleasure of calling you … John?" he ventured bravely.

The pregnant silence that followed was thick and tangible. Anne blushed at her father's audacity. Sir Walter was flushed as well, knowing he had perhaps over-stepped the established boundaries of social protocol, but he remained hopeful, nonetheless. Elizabeth tittered nervously from her position near the desk.

John gazed expressionlessly at Sir Walter for a long moment.

"No."

He led Anne out of the room without another word.

Anne waited until they were outside before expressing her mortification.

"Anne, hush," John admonished gently, pulling her to stand in front of him, with her back to the street. "There is nothing for you to be concerned about. They are nothing new to me. Indeed, nearly everyone at that dastardly ball I played host to last night is just like they are. They are one of the reasons for which I am grateful I have my title. It is as I told you: I do not have to socialize with them, and they, somehow and for reasons unknown, seem to enjoy being put in their proper place. I am certain that after we leave, they will remember more that an Earl was in their home than that they just got snubbed!"

Anne laughed nervously. "You are probably right, John. But I still want to—"

"No," John said for the second time that morning. "You have done nothing for which an apology is necessary. I am quite capable of separating you from your family." He stepped back and looked quizzically at her. "What I am not capable of is figuring out how you came to be the wondrous soul that you are while growing up among that lot."

Anne blushed. "John, that is too much," she protested. "After all, you do not really know my true nature. We did only just meet for the first time last night."

"True," John acceded. "But, do not forget my Sylvia. I have never met anyone more astute in judging a person's character as she. And she has known you for quite some time. If I could not trust my own wife's judgment, I would not be a very good husband.

"Now," his voice lowed conspiratorially, "let us do something to really get their tongues wagging at the eccentricities of the upper set!"

"Whatever do you mean?"

John waggled his brows over a mischievous grin. "Are they watching us?"

Anne looked up. Sure enough, her father and sister were almost pressed against the glass looking down at the street. Anne nodded.

"No doubt waiting for the grand coach of the Earl!" He raised his hand and a hired cab approached. "Your chariot, my lady," he intoned comically as he opened the door and lifted a hand to help her into the coach.

"You!" she laughed.

"Me?"

"You are the man I saw earlier, getting out of this very cab! I recognize the brown patch on the horse's neck." She arranged herself on the narrow seat inside. John joined her after telling the driver where to go.

"Guilty as charged," John confirmed as he settled in beside her. "I knew they would be looking for the pomp and circumstance, so I came as myself. People like that forget that behind the title and wealth lies a mere person."

"If my father were to be made an Earl tomorrow, he would be all pomp and double circumstance," Anne assured him.

He laughed heartily. "No doubt about that, dear Anne. But you would not, would you?"

Anne shook her head emphatically.

"And that, my dear, is precisely why we are on a first-name basis even though, as you so observantly pointed out, we have only just met."

Anne tilted her head and gazed at him for a long moment. "I cannot say that I understand it, but I can accept it. I, too, feel a comfort and familiarity with you and Sylvia that I have felt only three—um, twice before … with my mother. She was able to see beyond what a person was to who they were." Anne smiled sadly, remembering her mother's gentle, loving ways. "I suppose I am more like her."

John smiled sympathetically. "It is my guess that you are a great deal like your mother," he agreed softly.

"I hope so," Anne sighed wistfully. "I miss her greatly."

"I can see that you do," John agreed softly. "Who is the second person?"

Anne, lost in reminiscences of times with her mother, looked in his direction, but did not immediately comprehend the meaning of the question. "What?"

"The other person," John clarified. "You said you had only felt kinship with two or three others. I was wondering who they might be."

"Oh," Anne blinked, working to get her mind back to the present. "Yes. The other is our housekeeper at Kellynch Hall."

"The housekeeper?" John's eyebrows lifted in question.

"Yes. She is very dear to me, though it has not always been so. I have never disliked her and have always held her in highest regards, but she has proved invaluable to me this past year, and I will never be able to forget the generosity and kindness she showed me when she did not have to."

"I sense quite a story behind your words."

"Yes." Anne looked down at the bag in her lap and withdrew the letter to Mrs. Tompkins.

"Is that for her?"

"Yes."

"May I be so bold as to ask how Mrs. Tompkins served you in such a way as to earn your personal regard?"

Anne took a deep and somewhat shaky breath. "I experienced a … well, it was not pleasant, … and I had a difficult time overcoming it. Mrs. Tompkins's guidance and advice assisted me in learning to cope with the tumultuous emotions I was feeling." Anne looked up at John. "Indeed, she behaved almost as I feel my own mother might have," her shoulders slumped, "though I truly believe that, had my mother been with us, the entire situation might have been resolved much more favorably than that which actually occurred."

"I am very sorry that you should have experienced such unhappiness," John responded softly. "I would like very much to help erase the sorrow I see in your eyes. If there is ever anything I can do to assist you, please do not hesitate to let me know. I will do what is in my power to help you in any way."

"Thank you, John. I do not know that there is any remedy for my circumstance other than to allow time to take its course. But I sincerely thank you for your offer and your kind words."

"Think nothing of it, my dear. It will be my pleasure to help." He looked through the window as the carriage slowed. "Are you ready? My Sylvia is on pins and needles waiting for her beloved friend to arrive."

Anne smiled. "Yes. I am always ready to spend time with my friends."


	13. A Gift for Anne

Frederick wandered the small shop as the clerk tallied his purchase, stopping to inspect the items displayed in the window. Among the assortment of books, writing sets, quills, pens, nibs, and ink, a leather-bound journal captured his attention. Taking care not to topple anything in the display, Frederick picked up the book to gain a closer look at the design that had caught his eye. The soft cover had been dyed a soft aqua, reminding him of the Caribbean waters. A large, embroidered "L" was centered on the front, framed by a wreath of tropical flowers that had been painstakingly carved, sliced, etched, and painted in intricate detail. It brought to mind memories of times spent with Anne in her garden … memories he would desperately love to recreate many times over.

He had to have this journal, even if he never got the opportunity to present it to her. It reminded him of a time of pleasure and bliss which he never wanted to forget. Frederick turned to ask the clerk about the possibility of there being journals with other letters stitched on the front cover and nearly knocked over Miss Lucretia Drummond, whom he had not heard approaching. In helping steady her from their collision, he dropped the journal. Miss Drummond bent to retrieve the book for him with a twinkle in her eye as she saw the cover.

"I believe this is yours, Captain?"

"Yes."

"It is lovely," she commented sweetly, handing it back to him. "Is it for yourself?"

"Uh, no…a gift. For a friend."

"It will surely bring her great delight."

"Thank you. Yes. I hope so."

Lucretia moved to his side and tucked her arm into his. He raised his eyebrows at her familiarity, but did not protest as she led him across the store to make the introductions to her companions.

"Captain Wentworth, this is my dearest friend, Miss Laura August. Her family owns the plantation next to my father's. Laura, this is Captain Frederick Wentworth, captain of the Asp," Lucretia shared proudly.

"Captain," Laura said shyly with a small curtsey.

"Miss August, a pleasure," Frederick bowed.

"Captain, we were just on our way to—"

Lucretia's comment was abruptly cut off with the jangling of the bell above the door as a man thrust it open with great impatience. "Laura, Lu, it is time to go."

Laura curtsied again to Frederick and turned to the door even as Lucretia hissed to the large man, "Do not call me that!"

The man's eyes hardened as if preparing for battle, but timid Laura stepped in. "Captain Wentworth, this is my older brother, Simon August."

The men nodded in recognition of the introduction.

"Lu—cretia, we need to go. I need to check on Baby Blue."

"Blue?" Laura gasped.

Simon's eyes softened as he looked down at his sister. "Yes. She went into labor this morning."

"Lucretia! We must leave immediately!" Laura hustled out of the shop, then, remembering her manners, ducked back in under Simon's arm still holding the door open. "Please excuse us, Captain. This is my, uh, Blue's first baby, and I would really prefer to be on hand when the birth occurs." With a quick curtsey and a flurry of skirts, she was out the door again, calling for her brother and friend to hurry along.

Simon stepped in and extended his arm out in invitation for Lucretia to precede him. She took her time leaving, smiling prettily and curtseying at Frederick. "Good-bye, Captain. Shall we see you at the concert on Friday evening?"

"Perhaps, Miss Drummond. My schedule is not yet set. Good day." He bowed and turned back to the clerk, by now waiting patiently with the sum of Frederick's previous selections, and eager to add the cost of the custom-made journal.

A look of vexation marred Lucretia's pretty features as she spun to leave. She glowered further at Simon's wide grin. As the reigning belle of the island, it was not often that newcomers, specifically those of the masculine sex, did not fawn over her and praise her beauty and charm. She was unaccustomed to such a lack of attention and Simon enjoyed it immensely.

"Losing your touch, Lu?"

"Shut up!" she hissed as she passed him and stomped down the steps onto the street. "And do not call me that!" she added in a very unladylike manner.

Simon chuckled, admiring her trim figure as he followed her to the waiting carriage.

"Come on, Lu," Laura encouraged impatiently while her friend waited for Simon to catch up with her and hand her into the carriage.

"It is not proper for a lady to climb into a carriage without a man's hand to steady her," Lucretia intoned, quoting her favorite manual of etiquette. Suddenly she gave a piercing shriek as Simon abruptly lifted her in the air and tossed her in the carriage.

"What does your book say about squealing like a stuck pig?" Simon asked with a devilish grin as he climbed in behind her and settled across from the two girls after instructing the driver to take them to his plantation.

"I did not squeal," Lucretia protested.

Laura and Simon snickered.

Lucretia ignored them. "A true gentleman would never toss a lady about like a sack of grain," she admonished Simon.

"Lucky for you, Twig, I'm not a true gentleman."

"Don't call me Twig!"

"Don't call me this! Don't call me that!" Simon mocked. "What ever put a bee in your bonnet to become a 'proper' lady?"

"A lady should always strive to better herself," Lucretia responded haughtily.

Simon rolled his eyes and looked at his sister in disbelief. She wrinkled her brow and gave a slight shake of her head to indicate that he should cease his needling of their friend. His brows raised in question. She gave a slight shrug, letting him know she would tell him what was going on later. Simon sighed, but said no more on the matter, instead engaging his sister in conversation about Baby Blue, her mare who was expecting a foal at some point today. Brother and sister talked animatedly together throughout the ride to their home. At their destination, Simon properly handed each girl out of the carriage. Laura immediately raced to the stables.

"Miss Drummond, may I escort you to the house?" Simon offered his arm with exaggerated care.

Lucretia beamed as she accepted his arm gracefully. Simon's heartbeat sped up as she entwined her arm with his. He barely listened to her chatter as he led her up the stairs and into the parlor. He sat her down before moving to a table along the wall to pour himself a drink. He listened with half an ear to her prattling until he heard her mention Captain Wentworth several times.

"…I am sure he means to present me with the journal tonight, but it is so improper to give gifts to someone you've just barely met. But it was ever such a lovely journal, that I do not think that I shall be able to refuse his kind gesture—"

"Whatever are you talking about, Twig?"

She sighed loudly, but otherwise ignored the hated nickname. "Captain Wentworth was in the process of purchasing a leather-bound journal just now. It was embroidered with a large 'L' on the cover. Obviously, he means it as a gift. He seemed quite surprised to see me, and he was terribly reluctant for me to see it, so I am certain that he means to give it to me this evening."

"You are a presumptuous chit, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," she chuffed.

"That journal could be for anyone he knows," Simon corrected her. "There are any number of names provided to females that begin with the letter 'L.' Perhaps he is collecting souvenirs for someone he knows in England. His mother, sister, cousin…a wife?"

"The Captain is decidedly not married."

"Yes, that information probably preceded him to the island," Simon intoned wryly, draining the last of his drink. "But, while he may not have a wife, he might have a fiancée, or be promised to someone. You would do well to pull your head out of those clouds you've created around yourself and keep your thoughts on more realistic matters."

"Like what?" Lucretia demanded hotly.

Simon rose. "Like not plotting to trap every man you take a fancy to into marrying you."

She rose, her chest heaving with indignation. "I do not—"

"Oh, yes, you do. And if I hadn't been privy to your last escapade, you'd find yourself wed to Old Man Simmonds!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" she stepped away from his angry glare, not wanting to admit that her last plan had gone horribly wrong.

"Your plan to trap Michael Williams into marrying you by planting yourself in his bedchamber at a time when you would be sure to be caught. If I hadn't come along, you'd be wed to the wrong man because you chose the wrong bedroom!"

"I did not!"

"So, you admit that you were planning to trap Michael into marriage?"

"No!"

"Then why were you in a man's bedroom so early in the morning?"

"I wasn't…I…" she faltered at his scathing look. "Oh, you're despicable!" she shouted and spun out of the room, calling for a carriage to take her to her own home.

Simon watched her go, hating that he'd upset her. He understood why she was desperate to marry. Most of the other girls her age were wed, and her father barely spared her a glance. He supposed that's why she was trying to be a proper lady, so her father would notice her as he had never noticed the rambunctious girl she'd once been. He chuckled to himself. She was still very much the rowdy girl he'd watched grow up, and he was worried that he might have to watch her be claimed by someone else. That's why he took it upon himself to foil her plans. He wanted no one but himself as her husband. But she was too accustomed to him to view him as anything other than the obnoxious brother of her dearest friend. He poured himself another drink and downed it in one gulp. He was patient. She was young yet. There was time. He placed the glass on the table and headed out to the stables, wanting to check on his sister and her mare, and perhaps surreptitiously glean new information about Lucretia and her plans.

The next evening, Frederick was seated at his desk in his cabin, staring out at the ocean, his pen laying idle in his fingers. He jumped at a gentle knock on the door. "Enter," he called.

The door opened to reveal Thomas, attired in full dress uniform, hat under his arm. "Are you not ready?" he inquired in surprise.

"For what?" Frederick asked absently, his mind still elsewhere.

"The concert … dinner … ball …" Thomas droned.

"Oh, is that tonight?" Frederick heaved himself up and crossed to his wardrobe. He quickly pulled out his own dress uniform and in a matter of minutes was ready to go.

He enjoyed the music at the concert, but couldn't help but wonder if Anne would have liked it. The young woman sitting next to him seemed to be enjoying it, he supposed, if she could hear it between her whispering and giggling with her friend. She seemed rather put out with him as he had not responded well to her attempts to engage him in conversation. But he had no time for the silly notions about which young girls liked to converse. Yes, he was a ship's captain. Yes, it was exciting. Yes, he enjoyed traveling and this was surely one of the most beautiful places he'd seen and the women were among the most beautiful. He said the same things, fielded the same questions at every port. He just wanted to enjoy the music and get lost in thoughts of his Anne, dreaming of what his life would be like if she would ever find it in herself to forgive him.

The dinner was palatable, and he maintained his end of the conversation with his dinner companions. He thought one was the father of the girl who'd sat beside him at the concert, but could not be sure. Following dinner was a ball. Looking around the room, he thought it was more like a country dance at home than a true ball, but acknowledged that standards were different in each new place and did his best to stay off the dance floor while calculating how long he would be required to stay before making his escape back to the Asp.

He had just determined that he had remained a satisfactory amount of time and was looking for his hosts to say his farewells when he was descended upon by a bevy of girls.

"Oh, Captain Wentworth, surely you are not leaving!" one of them cried in dismay.

He bowed. "I am afraid I must," he explained.

"But, Captain Wentworth," another one beseeched, "you have not danced a single dance."

Pretty pouts suddenly appeared on half a dozen faces. "I have not, it is true."

"But surely you can spare us a dance?" inquired the young miss from the concert.

"I regret that I cannot, Miss…Drummond?" That's right. She was at the bookshop yesterday. "I really must get back to my ship."

"I shall be forlorn all evening, Captain," Miss Drummond professed. "Perhaps at the next ball, you might promise me a dance?" she asked coyly.

"Perhaps."

"Captain Wentworth?" asked another young girl who had been with Miss Drummond at the shop. Miss August, he thought he remembered.

"Yes?"

"We were wondering if you were going to host any activities on the Asp while you were in port?"

"I think that something of the sort might be able to be arranged," he promised.

The girls squealed their delight.

"And now, if you will excuse me?" He bowed to them and turned to leave.

As their little party broke up, Lucretia linked elbows with Laura. "That was brilliant, Laura!"

"What?" asked her friend.

"Getting us on board that ship. I had wondered how I was going to do that." Her voice trailed off as she began plotting how she could get the Captain alone so that they could profess their undying love for each other.

"Lu, whatever are you thinking?" Laura asked warningly.

"Nothing," Lucretia protested innocently.

"You are, too, and I will not be a part of whatever scheme you are plotting this time. You leave that Captain alone. He is not the one for you."

Lucretia huffed and dropped her friend's arm. "How would you know? I've got to get off this island, and he's perfect!"

"Leave him alone," Laura warned, but her friend paid her no mind as she spun away to find her next dance partner.

"What's up, sis?" Simon sidled up next to his sister and they both watched Lucretia charm her next partner as they found their spots for the next dance.

"Lucretia's planning something, but I don't know what. She was excited to be invited aboard the Asp, but she won't tell me why. She just said he was perfect and she needed to get off the island." She turned worried eyes to her brother. "What does she mean?"

"I'm not sure, but make certain I'm included in the party that goes to the ship, will you?"

She nodded. "What's gotten into her, Simon? I don't understand."

He hugged her shoulders. "She's growing up and having a hard time doing it," he surmised. "We've got to keep our eyes out for her."

"Yes," Laura agreed. "For instance, I noticed that her father left already, so she doesn't have a ride home."

Simon's mouth thinned. He did not understand how Albert Drummond could not pay more attention to his daughter. "We'll make certain she gets home."

"I know. But why does he do that?"

"I don't know, sis. But she's got us."

Laura looked up at him, detecting the subtle change in his voice. His eyes never left Lucretia as she sailed around the dance floor. Laura smiled, beginning to realize just how closely her brother wanted to watch her friend. "You know," she began thoughtfully, "you could just marry her."

Simon's eyes jolted to his sister in surprise. "What are you talking about?" he asked gruffly.

Laura smiled. "Marry her. That'll solve everything," she said matter-of-factly.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Oh, poppycock. It's glaringly obvious that you love her. She needs someone to protect her. Marry her and everything's taken care of."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, sis," Simon admonished.

Before she could reply, her dance partner claimed her for the next set. She looked back at Simon with a look that told him this conversation was not done.

He chuckled softly to himself. He liked how his sister was thinking, but he wasn't sure he was ready for it to be spoken aloud just yet. It was too soon and he didn't want to scare Lucretia off. She was fragile beneath her assumed hauteur and sudden foray into etiquette. No one else seemed to see that fragility but him, and he didn't want her spirits broken. Just then, the girl occupying his thoughts appeared before him. He smiled. "Lucretia."

"Are you or are you not going to claim this dance?" she demanded.

"But of course," he bowed with a flourish before presenting his hand.

She beamed and delicately placed her hand in his, and they took their spot on the dance floor.


	14. Farmer's Market

The door to John's study flew open with a bang, causing the men situated at the desk inside to jump with surprise.

"Oh, John, we must buy the farm so you can have an assistant, and then the orphanage can have all the food!" Sylvia flew across the room in the direction of her husband's arms.

He stood quickly, but still the desk stopped her before she got to him. Rounding the ungainly piece of furniture, he laughed outright, her exuberance catching, as he enveloped her in his embrace. "Sylvia, my sweet, your plan sounds delightful, but I confess I have no idea what it means. Are you perhaps speaking in code?"

"No, oh, no, John!" she protested, her eyes sparkling with her excitement. "It's a most fabulous idea. Cook got hurt so we went to market, then little Rachel got lost so we met her father and ate some strawberries. The most delicious strawberries! And he likes agriculture but to study not to farm, only the land has been in his wife's family for generations, so he feels he cannot leave it, but he needs to because he is ever so intelligent. He will make you the perfect assistant!" She banged on his chest for emphasis.

John gently guided her across the room to the sofa during her elaborately incoherent explanation. He glanced at his steward who was doing his absolute best to refrain from laughing at his employer's wife, but was instead drowning in fits of spastic coughing as a result. "It is quite all right, Reynolds," he assured the man. "You may as well join us. Despite the confused nature of my wife's jumbled sentences, I have no doubt that behind them there is a perfectly sound account, and it does sound as though your services may eventually be required if a plot of land is to be purchased."

Reynolds willingly joined them with a hearty grin, enjoying the couple's good spirits.

John looked around. "Anne! Why do you tarry near the door? Come," he gestured her in. "I feel we may need you translate Sylvia's high spirits into a coherent explanation." His smile lit his face and the twinkle in his eyes left no doubt that he was quite satisfied to be diverted from his work with their company and the promise of a recounting of their morning.

Anne returned his smile, graciously accepting his invitation, but first stepped backwards out the door to request tea from a passing maid, then hurried back into the study, taking a seat in an armchair opposite the sofa which her friends occupied.

"Reynolds, I do apologize," Sylvia remarked. "I know I must be interrupting something dreadfully important, but I was so overcome with excitement, I just had to share it with John immediately."

The steward chuckled. "Do not trouble yourself, ma'am. We were doing our utmost to avoid the humdrum matters our business sometimes entails. Your interruption is most appreciated, I assure you."

"Quite right, my dear," John added. "Ah, here is Sally with refreshments."

They watched as the maid brought the tea service in and placed it on the low table in front of Sylvia.

"Will there be anything else, your Ladyship?" Sally asked pleasantly.

"No, thank you," Sylvia responded with a kind smile.

Sally left with a quick curtsy.

"Now, Sylvia, Anne," John began as his wife poured the tea and passed around the plate of pastries and biscuits, "why don't we hear the details of your morning from the beginning so that we can make some sense of that which has you so immensely excited."

"Oh, John, it is so marvelous, I cannot think where to begin," Sylvia gushed.

He patted her arm. "No worries, my dear, perhaps our Anne can get the story started."

Anne smiled and took a sip of her tea. "I will delighted to share our adventures."

"Adventures," Sylvia echoed, "a good word. Yes."

They shared a smile.

"I will not bore you with the details of our tasks at the orphanage as they have no particular bearing on the story save that had we not been there, none of what follows would have occurred," Anne began. "The focus of our experience begins as we were preparing to take our leave. We were pulling on our coats and gloves when we heard a most terrible crash from the back of the main building. We rushed to the kitchen to find that cook had fallen from a ladder that had a weak leg and had broken as she climbed it. The surgeon was quickly sent for as Miss Harriet—she is the cook—looked to be in some pain. He examined her and informed us that she had sprained her back, bruised her shoulder quite severely, and her arm had been fractured. He set and bound her arm, then recommended that she rest her back for at least a week.

"Miss Harriet was quite distressed, not only at the severity of her injuries, but also because today is market day for her, and she would not be able to oversee the purchasing of supplies for the coming week."

"Could she not send her assistants?" Reynolds inquired.

Anne smiled. "They are quite understaffed, which is why they truly appreciate any volunteer help that is offered to them. With Miss Harriet indisposed, there is only her assistant, Miss Alice, left to do the cooking and the shopping, both of which require the bulk of the afternoon. Miss Harriet does usually provide just a light breakfast and luncheon on market day as she is using the remains of the previous week's purchases, but also because she is able to prepare it to be served with little or no supervision while she is at the market. With only her assistant available, there was no way to prepare the meals and do the required shopping."

Sylvia broke in. "Generally, there are enough other staff and volunteers to provide assistance, as preparing a light meal does not take great skill or much time, but an illness has been making the rounds of both children and staff. Those adults who were not indisposed due to poor health are working with the sick children. There are, quite literally, no hands that could be spared to assist with the kitchen duties."

"My word!" John exclaimed. "You will not become ill will you?"

Sylvia brushed his inquiry away with a wave of her hand. "It is not likely. And in any event, those who have contracted it seem to only be indisposed for a day or two, after which they are recovered quite rapidly. I am not worried."

"No," Anne agreed. "I feel it is a common childhood illness that is simply exaggerated due to so many people being in such close quarters to each other. No one seems the worse for wear because of it, but they are most uncomfortable for only that short period of time."

John looked askance between the two women, but offered no further comment.

"Anne and I quickly conferred and decided that as we do not know how to so much as boil water between us," everyone chuckled, "and because we had no definite engagements or plans for the afternoon, we would be delighted to offer our services and perform the market day shopping for Miss Harriet so that Miss Alice could prepare the necessary meals."

"Not very surprisingly," Anne continued, "no one objected, and Miss Alice accepted our offer with great relief and appreciation."

"She does not like the market," Sylvia informed the men.

"No, she was insistent that conducting the shopping on her behalf would be not only a great service for Miss Harriet, but also a most wonderful favor for herself," Anne confirmed. "And so, we left the orphanage only a little later than is customary, we merely headed in a different direction."

"We were driven to market by Mr. Crispin, the orphanage's butler, so to speak," Sylvia explained, "a jack-of-all-trades. He oversees the stables and their garden, drives them anywhere they need to go, and can fix anything on, under, or around the roof, from wagons to door frames to children's toys. Whatever needs doing, if Headmistress Mary or Miss Harriet cannot fix it, they call Mr. Crispin."

"Good man," commented Reynolds.

"Yes, he is," Anne agreed. "He knew not only where the market was but the vendors from which to purchase the needed items. We were armed with Miss Harriet's list, but Mr. Crispin knew in which parts of the market they could be found. We asked why he did not conduct the shopping."

"Yes, why could he not have done so, if he knew the place and the routine?" John asked.

"Sadly, he cannot read, and has only the most basic knowledge of his numbers and so cannot conduct a sale. He would not know how to read the price or count the money to pay for the items or ensure he was given the correct amount of change."

John and Reynolds shook their heads in disbelief, not able to understand being unable to perform such tasks they took for granted.

"Oh, he is not ashamed," Anne hastened to assure them. "He claims he is most content to be the one to haul the heavy loads to the cart and drive the wagon. He stated most firmly that everyone in this world has his own talents and abilities, it just happened that his do not include reading and figuring. But there is plenty more he can do, and do very well, so he does not give much thought to those things that have eluded him."

"Quite philosophical," John pondered. "I cannot say as I would ever have thought about it in quite that manner."

"Mr. Crispin is quite comfortable with himself and what he can do," Sylvia told him. "He proved his point quite nicely by pointing out that while we may have the ability to read and figure, if the wagon dropped a wheel, we would be calling upon him to make the repairs." She laughed.

Anne joined her. "We certainly could not argue with such logic." She set her cup and saucer down. "We soon arrived at the market, and he willingly escorted us to the proper vendors."

Sylvia shuddered. "I cannot tell you how it alarmed me to be purchasing that food!"

John turned a quizzical face to his wife. "Why?"

"It was rotten!"

"No!"

"No," Anne cut in firmly. "It was not rotten, it was just second-day or late-day selections."

"What do you mean?" Reynolds asked.

Anne explained "The best produce and food are available earliest in the morning. Naturally, such items will be more costly. That which does not sell in the early morning gets marked down as the day goes on, and so after luncheon, in the early afternoon, the pickings are much slimmer, but are also proportionately less expensive. There are some items, generally produce, that can be offered over the course of several days. As you can imagine, those that are second-day or older are not as fresh as the first day selections, and are accordingly lower in price.

"In order to economize and allow every pound and shilling they receive to stretch as far as they possibly can, Miss Harriet uses her food budget to purchase early afternoon and second-day offerings. They are not rotten, I assure you, but they are not of the freshness and quality, or price, that shopping earlier in the day would guarantee her."

"I had no idea," Reynolds intoned in disbelief.

Anne smiled. "There is a completely different world out there," she told him. "I was just as surprised as you to discover it has been there all along, while I was unconscious of it my entire life. It is a fascinating place, and one I will be forever grateful to my friend, Mrs. Tompkins, for sharing with me. I have a much greater appreciation for what I have, and for what others do not, thanks to the experiences to which she has introduced me, and I cannot think that I am worse off for having had them."

"Indeed, you are not," John declared. "You are, in my humble opinion, a better person than I am certain you already were, for you have opened not only your mind, but your heart, to the plight of those less fortunate than yourself and have compassion for them. There are many more in your situation who would not deign to experience any world but that into which they were born, but also use the slight knowledge that they do have of that so-called 'lower' world to elevate their own status." He smiled warmly at her. "You, Anne, are not of that caliber."

Anne blushed. "I thank you, John, for your kind words."

"They are heartfelt and sincerely meant, I assure you."

"And seconded by me," Sylvia added fondly.

"Thank you," Anne whispered.

Reynolds cleared his throat.

Anne took a deep breath.

"Yes. Back to the story," Sylvia grinned. "It was terribly difficult to purchase such sub-standard goods. But Anne pointed out that our manner of dress would not have anyone believing that we could afford more than the funds-in-hand we had from Miss Harriet, so with great assistance from Mr. Crispin, we achieved the bulk of the shopping according to the list we had been provided. But, my dear," she looked at her husband, "we must do something to allow them to have better food. We must!"

"And so we shall, I am sure."

"While Sylvia and Mr. Crispin were haggling over some greens—" Anne continued.

"Haggling … great fun!" Sylvia whispered as an aside to her husband. "It seems I have discovered a new talent."

John chuckled.

"—I happened to hear a distressing noise. I searched about for it and found a young girl, perhaps four or five years in age, tucked in a corner, crying piteously. She was quite dirty and distressed and very much ignored by those around her."

The men gasped in disbelief.

"That is not surprising," Sylvia broke in. "Unfortunately, orphans and waifs are all too common a sight in that part of town, so one dirty, crying little girl would not generate anyone's attention or alarm."

Anne reluctantly agreed. "Sadly, that is true. The lucky ones get taken in by the orphanage, but they have only limited space. But something about this little girl captured my attention, and I went to her. She told me her name was Rachel, and I asked her if she knew where her parents were. She leapt at me and wrapped her arms and legs about me rather tightly. She was quite lost, she sobbed, and asked me to please help her find her papa. He was surely lonely without her.

"I hugged her to me and agreed that her papa must indeed be missing her and we would take every possible measure to reunite them. Sylvia had just then finished her transaction and Mr. Crispin was taking her selections to the wagon. I introduced her to my new little friend and we chatted with her for a few moments trying to ascertain where her father could be, and if she actually had such a parent or if she was imagining him to be real.

"Mr. Crispin once again proved invaluable. When he returned, he listened to Rachel describe what she could remember of where her father's produce stand was located. As it turns out, she had wandered a little too far chasing after a stray cat—she was hoping to find kittens—and was in the wrong building altogether. Mr. Crispin led us to where we needed to be, and shortly thereafter, Rachel jumped from my arms with a squeal and ran to a man she claimed to be her papa.

"He looked much relieved to see her and embraced her tightly. When he had assured himself that she was still in perfect health and all in one piece, he turned to us with excessive gratitude. His name was Matthew Highsmith, and this was his first time at the market. We looked over his wares, most of which were still available for sale. He explained that one had to work one's way up to the larger buildings where the bulk of the traffic occurs. As a first time merchant, he was assigned to one of the outer buildings, and thusly did not sell much."

"The quantity of what he had available to sell was not very great, but I could not help but marvel at the quality of his selections," remarked Sylvia. "They did not appear to be typical of late-day offerings at all. Mr. Highsmith admitted that he had gotten lost on his way to town, and once here, had not immediately known where to go, and so this was, in fact, his first day at market, while others had already been set up and selling for two days or more. He had also been distracted when he realized that his daughter had wandered away, so he had not put as much effort into selling his wares as he might otherwise have done.

"He allowed me to sample the strawberries. I was in amazement that he had them at all, as it is quite early in the season for such. John," she turned to him, "they were so delicious that words cannot begin to adequately describe their flavor. I had to know how he had come across such fruit so soon.

"He confessed that he was not very much of a farmer at all. He had been working as a clerk at a factory which burned to cinders and all jobs were lost when the owners decided that they would not rebuild. His wife had inherited a small piece of land which her grandfather had left her, so they moved there to try and make a living as farmers. Mr. Highsmith declares he is very ill-suited for such an occupation. He is unafraid of hard work, mind you, but his tendencies are more inclined to explore how a plant produces its flowers and fruits than working to make such occurrences happen. He found himself looking forward to each day's end so that he could cease the thankless toiling in the fields and work with the seedlings he had in his home.

"To that end, and to appease his wife who despaired of the plants overtaking the house, he constructed a small greenhouse, and it was in that building that he was able to produce those strawberries so much earlier than usual! I did purchase some for you to sample, but I confess that I was unable to resist their flavor and ate every last one as we ventured home," Sylvia confessed sheepishly.

John laughed and hugged her to his side.

"She would not rest without knowing more about him," Anne took over. "To his astonishment, she purchased everything he had available and sent it all, less a few strawberries, along with Mr. Crispin to the orphanage. With little persuasion, once Rachel heard of it, an invitation for a light luncheon at a nearby shop was readily accepted. Over tea and cakes, we learned that Mr. Highsmith holds a degree from the university in Gloucester, where he studied the sciences, and discovered a particular affinity for things botanical." Anne smiled knowingly at John. "He is trying to become a successful farmer, but cannot yet tell how well things will turn out as this is his first season attempting this particular vocation."

"You see," Sylvia jumped in, urging her husband to understand. "You see, do you not, how perfect it will all be? You can offer to purchase his farm, he can become your assistant—you have been groaning for ages about how you need someone to help you with your research—and we can allow the orphanage to farm the land, producing their own food, which will, in turn, allow them to use some of their funds elsewhere as well as provide additional work and experiences for the children!"

"It is an ideal plan, my dear," John agreed warily. "Did you broach it with Mr. Highsmith?"

"No, no, of course not," Sylvia assured him. "I only thought of it as Anne and I were talking in the cab on our way home. But our time here in Bath is drawing to a close, and I dread leaving the orphanage without our support in some manner or another."

"I know you do," John agreed thoughtfully. "Well, Mr. Reynolds, this is certainly something a little more enjoyable to put our minds to this afternoon, is it not?"

Reynolds nodded his assent. "Indeed it is, sir. And ma'am, if I may be so bold, it is a marvelous idea. We will need to interview Mr. Highsmith first, to ascertain his willingness to proceed, of course."

"Yes, I know," Sylvia smiled her understanding. "It may not be a feasible idea after all. I have only just thought of it, as you well know, and I am quite aware that the best of plans when they are first thought of can sometimes be the worst of plans when the details are brought to the forefront."

"Indeed," Reynolds agreed.

"But, Mr. Reynolds," Sylvia continued.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"One thing which does not need many details to be worked out is providing further financial assistance for that particular institution. Would you please make the necessary arrangements for the highest quality meats, dry goods, and produce to be delivered each week to the orphanage? I still have the list provided to us by Miss Harriet," she handed it to him, "so that you can have an idea of what they need and approximately what quantities are required. I would dearly love to oversee that project myself, but we are due to leave Bath in a couple of weeks, and I fear that I will not have time to set this project in motion prior to our departure."

"I will be honored to make these arrangements, ma'am," he browsed the list, "and if I might suggest, perhaps the quantities noted here should be increased by ten or fifteen percent?"

"Make it twenty," John told the steward. "Goodness knows children need to eat. And I am certain you understood that the bill is to be paid for from the estate, not by the orphanage."

"Oh, most assuredly, sir."

"Good. Well, then," John stood, pulling his wife up into his arms. "My dear, two marvelous ideas in one morning." He tapped the end of her nose. "You should be quite proud of yourself."

"I am," she beamed at him. "And now that I have had the fun of relaying my ideas to you, I shall leave you alone to work out the particulars." She placed a quick kiss on his lips, and moved toward the door. "I am going to change, then escort Anne home. I will see you in time for tea."

"I look forward to it, my dear," he told her warmly. He watched her depart, then turned.

"Anne," he reached for her hand to assist her to her feet. "I have not seen my Sylvia so excited in quite some time. Her nature is not an unhappy one, but you do lift her spirits a great deal. Mine, too, I must admit." He pulled her forward and pecked her cheek. "I am mighty glad to count you as our friend."

Anne blushed and ducked her head. "Thank you, John. The two of you are very dear to me, as well."

He tucked her arm around his and walked her to the door. "I know. And thank you." He stopped at the open door. "I want you to know that my wife is not the only one who can dream up wonderful ideas." He looked fondly at her. "It would be an honor if you would consider traveling with us to London."

Anne gasped. She had not been expecting such a generous invitation. The imminent departure of her new-found friends had been weighing heavily on her heart, but she had been determined to bear it. To be presented now with the enticement of not having to be separated from their company, but even more, to be with them each day, morning through night, and not have to dread returning to her own home each afternoon, was enough to steal the very breath from her lungs.

"Think about it, please? We both love you dearly, and nothing would make us happier than to have you with us in London for the Season."

Her mouth opened and closed a time or two before she found her voice. "John," she squeaked. "I am speechless, I know not what to say or how to respond."

"Then I shall help you. Your response is, 'Yes, John, I would love to join you and Sylvia in London'."

She smiled. "Of course, nothing would make me happier. I must confess that I was not looking forward to the loss of your company. I would be delighted and overjoyed to travel with you, but," she bit her lower lip in uncertainty.

"Your father?" John guessed.

Anne nodded.

"Leave him to me," he whispered conspiratorially. "Naturally, I will obtain his permission before whisking you away with us, but I do not have any doubt that he will deny you the privilege. He will probably try to finagle a way to send your elder sister with you. But fear not, fair lady, he shall not succeed!" John's voice morphed into theatrical drama, his hand waving an invisible sword in the air. Anne giggled. "What say you we sweeten the pot?" John asked.

Anne tipped her head, perplexed.

"The morning before we leave, we will stuff him with breakfast!"

Anne clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes dancing with merriment as she remembered the first time John had visited her home.

"We will host a breakfast fit for an Earl and a Countess!"

Anne could hold back her laughter no longer.

John, encouraged by her response, continued. "It shall be indisputably formal. We will invite fifty or so of our closest, titled friends. The menu shall have meats, and gravies, and eggs, and toast, and six kinds of beverages, and, of course, champagne! All served on the finest of china laid with the richest of silver!" He once again brandished his nonexistent sword.

"John, what is going on?" Sylvia's voice rang out from the balcony above.

John and Anne moved to the entrance hall and peered up at her. "Only planning breakfast, my love," he told her.

"Breakfast?"

He grabbed Anne's hand and held it up towards his wife. "Anne has agreed to accompany us to London."

Sylvia shrieked in excitement. "Oh, my dear, what a lovely, lovely idea! I wish I had thought of it. Anne? You really will journey with us? Enjoy the Season?"

Anne nodded. "Yes. Of course. I am extremely honored at the invitation."

John hugged her to his side. "Nonsense, my dear. You are family, now, and such an invitation should not be needed. We found ourselves including you when we were making our plans, so it is fitting and natural that you should go with us. Sylvia," he looked back up at his wife, "as much as we consider Anne to be our family, the fact remains that she is not, so we should observe protocol and make the request of her father."

Sylvia huffed and waved the idea of that away. "He will no doubt agree to the plan as it will strengthen the connection he imagines he has to us."

John laughed. "Of course. But I thought to make the idea of our taking Anne and not his older daughter more palatable by hosting a breakfast in their honor. Making it the extremely formal and stuffy affair they seem to imagine we experience each morning."

Sylvia was roaring with laughter. "That is a capital idea, John! Absolutely brilliant! It will feed his ego as well as his belly and provide fodder for the gossipmongers and hangers-on for months! Anne, come up, please, so that we might begin to make our plans." She reached for Anne, though they were on separate floors.

"Go," John released Anne and gently pushed her in the direction of the stairs. "Make your plans. I cannot wait to hear of them."

Anne leaned up and kissed John on the cheek. "I cannot begin to thank you enough for thinking of me," she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. "I know," he whispered back. "But we do think of you, quite often, and it will be most pleasurable not to have to say good-bye to you each afternoon." He smiled warmly down at her. "I am looking forward to your company these next few months, Anne. Now, go. My wife impatiently awaits."

She smiled at him, then trotted up the stairs to join Sylvia.


	15. Nancy and Tim

"Nancy, how will I ever be presentable in London?" Anne wailed softly.

The meager selection of dresses, gowns, bonnets, gloves, and other assorted clothing and paraphernalia barely covered the top of the bed.

"It's all right, miss. You can pick up a few things when you get there?" The loyal maid looked askance at one of Anne's favorite day dresses, beginning to show signs of wear.

"I suppose," Anne sighed. "But things will cost much more there, I am sure, than they do here. And in Bath they are expensive enough."

"Well, miss, I could dress up a few of them for you if you like," Nancy pulled a ribbon from the box of hair accessories and held it against the dress she had been eyeing a moment ago. "If we change the trim here, and add a little something there,…" she arranged the ribbon and a touch of lace over one of the worn spots, "… you see. It's not so bad?" Her statement trailed off on a questioning note as the dress, while somewhat improved, did not really obtain any further sense of fashionableness as one would expect to see in London during the Season.

The women's eyes met and they burst into giggles at their twin inscrutable expressions cautiously disguising the doubt that the proposed creation before them would do anything other than cause tongues to begin wagging.

A knock barely preceded the bedroom door bursting open to reveal Elizabeth agog with excitement. "Anne, you must come quickly! The Baron is here and has expressly stated a desire to renew your acquaintance."

"A Baron?" Anne inquired. "I do not believe I know any Barons, certainly not enough to be renewing an acquaintance."

"Oh!" Elizabeth's impatience showed itself in short order. "Of course you met him! At the ball given by the Earl and Countess! Surely you remember?"

"I do. They are my closest friends," Anne reminded her sister.

Elizabeth's sigh nearly fluttered the curtains at the windows across the room. "Not, the Earl and Countess. The Baron."

Anne shook her head in an attempt to clear her confusion. "Elizabeth, whatever are you—"

"Oh, just come downstairs. Immediately." Elizabeth ordered and stomped away.

Anne sighed. "Well, Nancy. It seems I am required elsewhere. Just pack all these things in the trunks, and we'll see what we can do with them once we're in London. Perhaps we will have time this afternoon to shop for some accessories and things to improve the appearance of one or two of the evening gowns at least. I'm sure Sylvia and John will attend at least one ball." She trailed her fingers over the closest gowns with another sigh. "Thank you, Nancy."

"Yes, miss," Nancy bobbed a curtsy as Anne left.

Downstairs, Anne joined her father and Elizabeth in the formal drawing room. The fourth person present was one whom Anne did not ever recall having met, but before she was allowed to politely greet their guest, her sister rushed to her side and escorted Anne to stand before him. He was only a few inches taller than Anne, and his appearance was, if not handsome, at least not outright unattractive. He was rather nondescript, with light brown hair, gray eyes, and nothing memorable about his features, save that while he was neither thin nor rotund, his middle was beginning to pull slightly at the buttons of his waistcoat.

He stood and bowed. "Miss Anne, it is a delight and an honor to meet you once more."

Anne curtsied as etiquette dictated. "Thank you, sir. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

His hand covered his heart in mock dismay. "You break my heart! You do not remember me?"

Anne shook her head. "I must apologize, sir. If we have indeed met, and my sister assures me that we have, I do not have any recollection of the meeting." Anne heard both her father and sister draw in sharp breaths at her words. It would never occur to them to confess to not remembering someone with a title and, presumably, wealth. They would flatter and fawn and make every sort of action to convey their honor at being near the illustrious person and never once give thought to admitting they could not remember being introduced. Anne felt it best to admit her lack of memory at the start so as to remove any potentially embarrassing faux pas prior to their ever being conceived.

The Baron chuckled. "Such forthrightness! Such honesty! I am impressed. Of course, we were introduced at the ball given by those who I later learned are your friends, the Earl and Countess DuCheyne. I have called upon you many mornings since that time, but it seems you are never at home, so it is conceivable that your memory of such an occasion should have been forgotten. All is forgiven!"

Anne's eyebrows raised at his proclamation of forgiveness, but she said nothing.

"Please allow me to re-,"—the Baron's charming grin reminded Anne of a lizard she had once seen for sale at the market—"-introduce myself." He bowed deeply. "I am Seymour Ardingley, Baron Grandison, of Devonshire."

Anne curtsied again, then sat at the far end of the sofa that Baron Grandison was also occupying. The Baron once more took his seat as well, and general conversation flowed as Elizabeth poured tea for everyone. Then commenced one of the more torturous half hours that Anne could ever recall experiencing. Baron Grandison, she supposed, was a perfect match for her father and sister, each one's false flattery and empty platitudes matching the others'. Anne sat quietly, responding to questions posed to her when they were asked, but not minding the conversation, her thoughts being nearly completely upon the preparations needing to be undertaken to remove herself to Sylvia's house that night so that they could begin journey to London, when they left the next day. Anne had never been to London and was quite looking forward to the opportunity of experiencing the many wonders that would be available to her in the country's capital city. She also found she could not deny the attraction of not having to return each day to a home occupied by her father's and sister's rather shallow, dismissive company. She would never say such a thing aloud, and would barely allow herself to admit it in her thoughts, but she was aware of it, and smiled a little at having such an enjoyable secret, as wrong as it might have been to have ever allowed it to form in the first place.

"…will you not, Anne?" Elizabeth's impatiently polite voice broke into Anne's thoughts.

"Oh. I am sorry. My thoughts had trailed off onto another subject. What is it you will have me agree to? I did not quite hear."

Through clenched teeth framed in a tight smile, Elizabeth repeated the Baron's invitation. "Lord Grandison has kindly offered to take us on a ride through Bath tomorrow. We will take tea at The Grand Tea House before returning home. Isn't that a wonderful prospect?"

"It is a truly wonderful invitation, My Lord, but I am afraid I must decline."

"No!" Lord Grandison protested in seeming earnestness. "Tell me you will not refuse to allow me to accompany you about the city. I have long looked forward to furthering our acquaintance. Now that we have finally met again, you will refuse me? I am heartbroken." He once again clasped his chest in mock agony.

"I am sure she is not serious," Sir Walter intoned. "Surely there is nothing better for her to do tomorrow than receive a tour of Bath with one as exalted as yourself, My Lord. Pray, pay her no heed, she will join you. Indeed she will!" Sir Walter shot a fierce look at his middle daughter.

Anne wondered to herself why they were so forcefully trying to make her attend the proposed afternoon's activities with the Baron, but she pushed such thoughts away as she offered her explanation. "Lord Grandison, you are extremely kind to offer such an invitation to my sister and myself. Ordinarily, I would be delighted to accept, but, as it happens, I have another trip already planned. Tomorrow, I leave for London with my friends. As we will leave just after breakfast, you can see that I will not be available for a tour of Bath tomorrow. I do thank you for your generosity and offer my sincere apologies for not being able to accept. But I am sure you and Elizabeth will enjoy yourselves. Perhaps Lady Russell or Father could accompany you?"

Lord Grandison's smile stayed on his face. Anne watched in fascination as his expression did not alter in its physical appearance yet the joviality which he had been showing completely disappeared. Versed in the same sort of behavior themselves, Sir Walter and Elizabeth did not take note of it. Or, Anne mused, if they did, they simply attributed it to a quirk of the nobility or completely placed the entire blame for his shift in mood on her shoulders. She took a sip of tea. It was, she mused, most likely the latter. As this was more common than not, Anne gave it not another thought as her mind ran once again to the preparations for her upcoming trip.

It did not take long for the visit to come to an end and their guest to take his leave. "Miss Elliot, I will certainly look forward to spending time with you tomorrow. Sir Walter, I bid you good day." He bowed and turned to Anne. "Miss Anne, I do regret not being able to further our acquaintanceship here in Bath. Perhaps we will meet in London while you are there?"

"Perhaps," Anne agreed noncommittally, noting that anger seemed to fill his eyes though his smile remained in place. It happened so quickly that she was not quite certain that she had seen it, but Anne was quite convinced that she did not trust the Baron. There was something he was hiding, but he was now leaving and she did not have the time to think about what it might be.

"How could you!"

Anne paused on the stairs. "Elizabeth?"

Her sister rounded the newel post and glared up at Anne. "How could you rebuff such an eligible man as he?" She pointed at the door through which their guest had just departed. "He. Is. A. Baron!"

"Yes. I know."

"He specifically asked to meet you again and you turned him down!"

"No. I met with him again, just as he asked."

"You declined his invitation!" Elizabeth shrieked. "He. Is. A. Baron!"

"Yes. You said that already. And I explained why I must refuse his invitation. I told you and father four weeks ago about my trip to London with John and Sylvia. Father himself approved the trip. I reminded you both just this morning that I would be spending the night with them at their house so that we could depart early in the morning. Knowing this Elizabeth, you should have been the one to decline on my behalf when the invitation was extended."

Elizabeth could not stand being corrected by Anne, especially when plain, boring Anne was right. And destined to London with a Countess. And an Earl. It was not fair! Her eyes narrowed, her fists clenched, and her complexion became a vivid shade of purple before changing to red as she screamed. Loudly.

Sir Walter came running, followed closely by several servants. "Whatever is the matter? What is going on here!" He demanded of Anne, somehow knowing it was all her fault.

She looked at him for a long moment. "Elizabeth is having a bad day," she told him then headed up the stairs. She heard her sister's continued shouts and screams as she reached her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

"Nancy," Anne drooped wearily against the wall, "is it terribly wrong of me to admit that I cannot wait to reside beneath a roof under which my father and sister do not?"

Nancy chuckled. "No, miss. I think not."

Anne joined Nancy at the bed where the maid was carefully shaking wrinkles from the gowns before folding them. "I do hope that John and Sylvia will not mind if I arrive somewhat earlier than we had planned." She began folding one of her gowns.

Nancy gently took the dress from Anne. "If you don't mind, miss, I'll do that."

"Oh." Anne did not quite know what to say having long been used to packing her things for herself.

"I mean no disrespect, miss!" Nancy hastened to assure her. "'Tis my job, after all. And, if I may be so bold, I'll be missing you once you leave today." Her voice trailed off sadly.

"Missing me?"

"Aye. You'll be off to London in the morning, then, won't you?"

"Yes, but …" Anne dropped down in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace. "I suppose that your services did come with the house when we rented it. I had not given thought to that." She looked up at Nancy. "I have become so accustomed to having you attend me, I fear I did not even give a moment's thought to your not joining me when I leave."

"Oh, miss! That is one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me! It's been a right pleasure serving you, too, these past few months."

"Nancy?"

"Yes, miss?"

"How well-tied to this house are you?"

"Miss?" Nancy had no idea what Anne meant.

"Come here, please," Anne indicated the armchair opposite her. "Nancy, as I have just mentioned, your services as my maid have been exemplary, and your friendship has been invaluable. I know that in London there will be many occasions upon which I will need assistance preparing for outings and events, and I think that we work well together. Do you not agree?"

Nancy nodded.

"Nancy, I would be honored … would you consider … will you please accompany me to London as my lady's maid? Please?"

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. "M-me? Be a lady's maid? But, miss, I've no experience!"

Anne smiled. "Nancy, as you have just mentioned, you have spent the past few months becoming the best lady's maid I could ever hope to find."

"M-me?" Nancy stammered again.

"Yes, you."

"Miss … oh, my …" Her expression lit up at the prospect of such a promotion in duties and the thought of traveling to anywhere outside of Bath. She fancied the idea for the briefest of moments before giving in to her own personal reality. "Miss, I would really love to travel with you. Serving you has indeed been one of the best things I've ever been able to do. But I cannot. I wish I could, I really do, but I cannot."

Anne slumped in disappointment. "Oh. I see." She studied the decorative screen covering the empty fireplace. "May I ask why? It is not something I have done or said that prevents you from accepting?"

"Oh, no, miss! No, no, no! Never that! It's my brother, you see."

"Your brother?"

"Yes. He's ten and I'm all he has left, after our parents died."

"Where is he?"

"Well, for a time, when he was younger, I managed to pay a family we knew to keep him. But since he's older now, he works at the livery stable near the park. He don't like it much, but it does give him a place to sleep and two meals a day, and the manager allows him to have the same day off as me, so we get to see each other every week. But I can't leave him alone here, I just can't."

"Of course not," Anne agreed, returning her gaze to the fire screen as she mulled over this new information for a few moments. "Nancy …"

"Yes, miss?"

"Your brother—what is his name?"

"Tim."

"Tim. What if … Would it work …" Anne's voice trailed off as she began making order of the thoughts tumbling about in her head. "Tim." She sat up, speaking with confidence. "I have it. Nancy, would your brother consider traveling with us?"

"Miss?"

"May I speak with him? Might we go see him?"

"Miss?"

"I haven't enough to pack that it would take more than three-quarters of an hour to complete, and, in any case, we had already made tentative plans to shop for trim for some of my gowns. It would be nothing to stop by the livery and speak with your brother to ask if he would like to accompany us to London."

"Miss?"

Confident in her plan, Anne stood to search for her bonnet and reticule. "Come, Nancy, let us attend our errands and call upon your brother."

Nancy stood and watched as Anne gathered her things. "Miss, I don't understand."

Anne handed Nancy a bonnet. "Here, put this on. I am most impatient and do not wish to wait for you to get yours from your room above stairs."

Nancy accepted the hat but only carried it by the brim as she followed a briskly moving Anne out the door and down the stairs. Once outside, at Anne's urging, she reluctantly tied the bonnet beneath her chin and set off after Anne.

"Am I going in the proper direction?" Anne inquired as they stopped at the corner.

"Miss, please tell me what you are about?" Nancy pled.

Anne turned kind eyes to her friend. "Nancy, please forgive me for my headlong rush into the street. I do not mean to alarm you, but I am excited about the plan that occurred to me and I do not wish to tarry long in seeing it come to fruition.

"I am to go to London and I wish to take you with me. I do feel that you have a strong desire to accompany me?" Nancy nodded slowly. "But you hesitate to depart with me because your brother, your only remaining family member resides and works in Bath. Is that correct?" Nancy agreed with Anne's logical statements. "It is my intention, therefore, to offer a position of employment to your brother so that he and you may stay together, thus freeing you to remain in a position as my lady's maid. Is that not clever?"

Nancy stared at Anne, trying to make sense of the words her mistress had just uttered.

Anne, mistaking Nancy's silence for possible rejection, continued on. "I do apologize. It is extremely selfish of me to make such assumptions. There may be, of course, other reasons for which you do not wish to quit Bath. Forgive me, please. We will think of it no more, and just attend to our few errands."

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

"If you could, please…that is, if you don't mind…would you say that all again?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." Anne led Nancy to a nearby tea shop. Once they were settled and refreshments had been delivered, Anne began her explanations once more. "Nancy, please forgive my hasty assumption that you would agree with my plan for no other reason than that it was something I wished to have happen. I am quite accustomed to having my own wishes ignored or discarded that I do my absolute best never to override or dismiss the desires of those around me as it is not a comfortable or welcome feeling."

"It's quite all right, miss."

"No, Nancy. It is not, and I pray you will forgive me and allow me to explain in more detail a plan for which I am, in truth, still working out details."

Nancy nodded, sensing that her mistress desired a response.

"Thank you." Anne smiled in gratitude. "As we both know, you have been attending me since shortly after my family and I took up residence here in Bath. In that time, I have looked forward to our time together each morning and evening, enjoying your conversation and friendship in addition to the assistance you provide to me in getting prepared for the day's or evening's activities. I sincerely believe that I could not find a lady's maid better suited to my needs than you, dear Nancy, and it is my fondest wish that you leave your current employment and join me on my travels, first to London, and then, in all likelihood, to Kellynch Hall.

"I do not know what sort of wage you are currently earning, but do be assured that I am not requesting that you work for me without compensation. I am no spendthrift, so I do have some funds available from the pocket allowances I have been provided over the years. It is not a fortune, but it is ample enough to allow me to have my own maid should I so choose.

"You have just told me of your young brother. I do apologize for not inquiring of your family sooner. I should have asked many weeks ago, and it was quite irresponsible of me not to do so.

"My proposal is this: to offer positions of employment to you and your brother so that I might retain your friendship and services and so that you and your brother would not be separated. I realize that it is a wholly selfish request of me to ask you to quit your home and all your friends and whatever else you may have here in Bath for the sole purpose of making my journey easier for me, and I will not hold you any less dear if you refuse me.

"I would dearly love to provide you ample time to ponder the request and make your decision after conferring with your brother and your friends, but, as you know, I am leaving my family's residence this evening to embark to London in the early morning.

"At this moment, I propose that we complete the few errands we had listed in order to provide you time to think about it, and, when we are done, you might be able to inform me if it seems a good idea to approach your brother or if you would prefer to remain in Bath. Please remember that I will still hold you in highest esteem regardless of your decision. You cannot select an incorrect response."

Nancy stared at Anne for several long moments, her arm frozen in the act of lifting her tea cup for a sip.

"Nancy?" Ann asked gently.

Nancy awakened from her stupor. Her cup clattered softly against its saucer. "I'm sorry, miss." She firmly settled her cup and saucer further back on the table, working to control her shaking hands as well. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Anne in amazement. "If I may, miss, it seems you are asking me to go with you to London as your personal maid and you want my brother to go, too?"

Anne nodded. "Yes. That is correct."

"But why? I mean no disrespect, miss, but I'm just a house maid, not even close to being head maid, and just got pressed into service for you and your sister because the girl who usually does it left to tend her family. It takes years sometimes for a house maid to work her way up to attendant, and it sometimes never does. I haven't the experience you surely think is necessary for—"

Anne placed a consoling hand over Nancy's. "If I may be so rude as to interrupt?" she broke in.

Nancy nodded.

"It is my belief that two people who work so intimately together such as a lady and her maid ought to be, first and foremost, comfortable with each other. From there, their working relationship can develop. I do realize there are some who would prefer a maid with the requisite experience and references, but I am, it seems, not one of those. I have never had a maid of my own before, preferring to get dressed and clean up my personal areas myself. But our social engagements have been more extensive here in Bath, and so I have availed myself of the services that have been provided with our lodgings. I know that I will have many more demands on my time and appearance in London, and do not wish to travel to that city for the first time without someone at my side who knows me, my preferences, and my peculiarities."

"But I haven't any experience as a lady's maid!"

"You have experience as my lady's maid, and that is sufficient for me."

"Oh," Nancy had no other response to Anne's assurances. Indeed, her last statement caused all of Nancy's objections to flee from her thoughts at once as there was no way, in truth, to object when a lady made a declaration such as had just been made. "But what about my brother? What has Tim to do with it?"

"You could hardly be expected to leave your brother behind, could you? Not if he is the only family you have left. Not one so young as he."

Once more, Nancy just stared at Anne. How is it that this lady could know her uncertainties so well? "But what would he do, miss?"

"I confess I have not yet given full thought to that, but I could initially offer him a position as errand boy or some such. Help with the horses, perhaps, as he has experience with that, or attend us while shopping and assist with handling our purchases. Please be assured that there will be something for him to do and he will not be working for free. He may even be called upon to work for the Earl and Countess from time to time."

"My brother? Work for an Earl?" Nancy gasped, astounded at the potential honor just mentioned.

The two women finished their tea in silence, each mulling what had been offered and said. When they had finished, they resumed their walk outside, though at a much slower pace than before. Anne remained silent, allowing Nancy the promised time for thinking of her proposal.

After just a half-block, Nancy spoke. "Miss?"

Anne stopped. "Yes, Nancy?"

"Might I offer a plan myself?"

Anne smiled. "Of course."

"I would very much like to go with you, but I want to ask my brother about it first."

"Of course."

"I won't tell him whether I've accepted your offer or not, but will tell him about the offer first, and then allow him to decide for the both of us. I do not want him to decide to leave a good job that I think he does enjoy somewhat if he does not want to. But if he knows that I will be leaving tomorrow, he may make a decision based upon his feelings for me, and not his opinion about the offer."

"That is a very sensible idea," Anne assured her maid. "Shall we go see him now, or after our errands?"

"If you please, miss, it would be best to see him now, so that if he decides to go, he could finish his duties and gather his things."

"Again, a very wise plan. Let us go, then."

A mere quarter-hour's walk saw the two women arrive at Colbran's Livery and Stable, where the proprietor, Isaac Colbran, a gruff fellow, but likable all the same, was pleased to make their acquaintance and send young Tim and his youthful exuberance off to someone else's supervision. Colbran was fond of the lad in his own way, but had not known how to handle Tim's constant curiosity and frequently clumsy ways.

"Now, Tim," Nancy held her brother's arms firmly when they were away from the stable. "You must mind Miss Anne as she is your employer now."

"Yeah, Sis, I know," he tried shrugging off her grasp. She let one hand drop but kept her hold on his other arm, turning him to look at Anne. "Miss Anne, this is my brother, Tim, and we're ever so grateful for the chance to stay together."

"Yeah, thanks, Miss Anne," Tim echoed with innocent charm.

"Tim!" Nancy chastised.

"What'd I do?" he protested, trying to escape her tightening grip.

Anne placed calming hands on the arms of her two companions. "Nancy, there is no harm done. He is merely a young boy." She crouched down to have a better look at Tim. "Hello, Tim. As you know, my name is Anne Elliott, and I am traveling to London tomorrow. I would like to take you with me, but I need to know, how well-behaved are you? Are you mischievous and prone to doing what you like? Or are you courteous and polite and seeking out ways to help others?"

Tim tilted his head as he pondered the choices. "Well, I don't never do anything wrong or mean spirited on purpose," he declared after a moment. "I do like to know why things are the way they are, and sometimes that gets me in trouble. But I don't never mean for it to."

Anne nodded. "Fair enough. We will simply have to see about keeping your hands busy and your mind occupied, then, will we not? At its most basic, you will be our errand boy—"

"What's that?" Tim interrupted.

"Tim," Nancy warned.

Anne ignored the exchange between the siblings as she explained, "As errand boy, you will accompany me whenever I go shopping. You will assist me in carrying the things that I purchase and taking them to the driver of our carriage, if necessary. If I am at home and need a note or parcel delivered somewhere, you will either take it yourself or accompany a footman, depending on the distance. There will be other instances, of course, when I will be requiring you to fetch and carry for me. Do you feel you can handle those duties?"

"For certain I can, Miss Anne! I know it!"

Anne smiled. "How wonderful! I know I have hired an adequate assistant. In return for your services, I will provide you with a small wage and some new clothes."

Tim beamed with excitement.

"How well do you read and cipher?"

Tim's face fell. "Not too good."

"It seems an education is in order as well, then," Anne declared, rising to her feet.

"Miss?"

Anne looked at her companions, both staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked in mild alarm.

"An education?" Nancy clarified.

"Of course."

"But…but…"

"Nancy, I cannot expect an errand boy to run errands if he cannot read the address posted on an envelope or a street sign. And if he is making a purchase for me, he must be able to add, subtract, and properly count money. There is also the fact that Tim will not remain a boy forever. How can he know what he wants to do next if he does not receive an education?" She looked at the boy. "Tim, do you want to work in a stable for the rest of your life?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No, miss. It was fine for now while Nancy could come to see me, but horses is too big for a body to be restful around them, so I got to handle the smelly end of things and I didn't much like that, either."

"Well, then, it is decided. In order for you to progress to something other than stable hand and errand boy, you must have an education. I am making it a condition of your employment. You will attend classes daily with me so that we can improve your reading and ciphering skills, and we will progress from there when the time is right." She took Tim's hand in hers. "For now, let us get you started on your official errand boy duties, shall we? Your sister and I have several shops to visit prior to our journey, and you shall help us." Together they moved up the sidewalk.

"You sure are a really good lady, Miss Anne."

"Thank you, Tim. You are very kind to say so." Anne suddenly realized that Nancy was not with them and she stopped to peer over her shoulder. "Nancy?"

Nancy shook her head, wiped at her eyes, and joined them in a few quick steps. Tim released Anne's hand and ran a few steps ahead.

Anne prevented her from calling out to him. "Leave him be. He is not harming anyone, and I am sure he needs to expend some energy. He will settle in a few minutes, I am sure."

"Thank you," Nancy squeaked.

"You are quite welcome, but may I ask for what you are extending thanks?"

"This job, my brother, an education…" Nancy said brokenly, wiping at her eyes again. "I never thought…he had to leave school when we came here, and there were no funds to place him in another one…I had despaired…"

Anne patted her friend's arm. "It is quite alright, Nancy. He is obviously a bright and intelligent boy. If we can figure out how to keep him busy, I am certain he will not be a problem at all."

"He's a good boy," Nancy affirmed.

"I know," Anne agreed.

Their errands took longer than originally planned because Anne stopped to purchase Tim a new set of ready-made traveling clothes and shoes that fit, as well as a set of school books and tablets. Anne and Nancy ended up carrying their own purchases because Tim was so completely in awe at the new books that he kept trying to read them as they walked, but refused to part with them when the women threatened to take them away if he did not pay attention to where he was going.

Much to Anne's relief, her father and sister were out when the trio arrived at the Elliott residence. With Nancy packing, and Tim running things downstairs, and the footmen loading the carriage, they were ready to depart within a half-hour. Before leaving, Anne met with the staff in the kitchen to thank them wholeheartedly for serving her and her family so well during her stay. They nodded their appreciation, startled to be complimented for doing their jobs. The cook was so delighted that she gave Anne the cake she had been making for the evening's dinner, stating that she would whip up a pudding or some such in its place for the Baronet and his daughter. Anne accepted graciously, stating that she would share it her friends that very night, and send a note sharing their comments about it. She left among titters of excitement at having one of cook's cakes sampled by an Earl and Countess, and wouldn't that set the staff next door up in arms with jealousy.

Within moments, Anne, Nancy, and an excited young Tim were on their way, setting out on the first stage of their trip to London.


	16. London Experiences

June 1807

Dearest Frederick,

I have been remiss these past few months in writing to you as often as had been my habit prior to my coming to London with John and Sylvia. A great many things have happened since leaving Bath and I am still in disbelief that any of it has happened to me! I, Anne Elliot, content with my life in quiet Kellynch Hall and an occasional, if unwilling, foray into Bath, now have a wardrobe fit for a princess and my own lady's maid and tiger. I have experienced—indeed am currently in the midst of—a London Season, have met so many interesting people, and am, according to Sylvia (though I do not see it myself) one of the most intriguing people of the Season.

Nearly every day has been filled with activity, so much so that when there are moments free of obligation, I cannot summon energy enough to do much more than chastise myself for not writing to you while the opportunity to do so is present. Alas, as you must have discerned, the self-admonishments were in vain, as I have not written until now. This evening, I found myself with a mild headache and a decided lack of enthusiasm for the evening's social engagements. Had we planned to attend the theatre or an opera, I may have summoned the determination to go; but tonight's schedule includes making appearances at a soirée, two balls, and a Parliamentary function which John must attend. My friends were, as always, kind and understanding, and encouraged me to stay at home and rest. I must admit to being glad at having some time alone. Social life in Somersetshire does not compare to that of London. Even Bath, for all its large population and urban attractions, is rather sedate and unhurried when contrasted with London.

So I find myself quite wonderfully alone for the next few hours. My hosts are out, as described above; I requested only a simple supper served on a tray, informing the housekeeper that I would not be needing any further assistance this evening and encouraging her to allow at least some of the staff to have a few hours off tonight; and Nancy and Tim both have the evening off (once I convinced Nancy that I could dress for bed without assistance)—I believe they are gone off to see a play and enjoy a late evening supper at Hansen's, a bakery that serves light meals and, as Tim joyfully says, "the most wonderfullest raspberry tarts ever created by anybody ever in the whole wide world!"

My Frederick, here I am, alone at last, and terribly eager to update you on all that has happened. So much has happened that I hardly know where to begin; however, if I heed the age-old advice of starting at the beginning when one cannot think where to begin, I shall return to Bath and the events prior to our departure. I cannot promise to follow a direct course from that time to this, but that is where I shall begin the tale of my current adventures.

True to their word, John and Sylvia hosted a lavish, formal breakfast the morning of our departure. It was a conciliatory gesture to my father and sister, meant to soften the blow of Elizabeth not only not being invited to journey with an Earl and a Countess, but having me being invited in her stead (as she perceives it). Father and Elizabeth were in their element, preening and gloating at being the guests of honor—and formally toasted as such—at a breakfast of a peer, and Bath's highest ranking one of the winter season. There was every type of food imaginable for breakast, and beverages included fruit juices, coffee, tea, chocolate, and even champagne (so as not to disappoint father). Sylvia and I teamed with the cook and housekeeper to make it as extravagant as possible to meet my family's expectations (however misguided and incorrect they may be), but we also had to keep ourselves in check so as not to seem ostentatious to the other guests. There may be few in the Ashtons' inner circle, but they still like and respect the majority of their acquaintances and did not want to either mark themselves as fools with unnecessary extravagance nor make their guests feel they were being made fun of. So, formal livery, the best china, silver, crystal, and linen, and rich foods were all approved. We drew the line, however, at dramatically staged presentations and re-feathered geese. (Can you believe someone could, or even would, do that? Cook saw one once at a poulterer's: a goose had been roasted and stuffed, then the feathers reapplied as though it were still alive! How did they get the feathers to stick? Why would anyone even think to do such a thing? It made me shudder to think of it. Fortunately, we decided that particular embellishment, as fascinating as it might be to view, would be a bit too much to have staring at the guests as they consumed their first meal of the day.) When all was said and done, the event was a great success, with Father and Elizabeth securing a reputation of having a connection that will carry them easily through several seasons in Bath.

Our journey to London was rather uneventful: the roads were all in excellent condition, and John spares no expense in outfitting his coaches. The one in which we rode was very plush and well-sprung, and Nancy tells me that the one in which the servants rode was the most elegant and comfortable she has ever been in (though she did admit to only ever having ridden in one other). Tim was in heaven, riding atop with the footmen. John told me that when he purchases a new coach, he delegates the older one for the servants, so I imagine that Nancy, Tim, and the others were quite comfortable, indeed.

We broke our journey in a small village—more of a hamlet, actually—called Greckle-Upon-. If you are thinking that I erred and left off a part of the town's name, you are mistaken. It seems the town of Greckle was founded by one Ananias Greckle in a year no one seems to be able to determine. Some time ago, the town elders wanted to inflate their importance in order to draw people to visit their quaint village, so they decided to name themselves Greckle-Upon-Something, with a vote to decide what that something should be. The trouble lies in the fact that there are no conspicuous geographic features anywhere around. They are too close to London to be near any mountains; they are too far away from London to take advantage of any of its great features. There are a few unnamed brooks trickling through, and some puddles when it rains, but absolutely nothing to give them any sort of geographical prominence whatsoever. So for 125 years or more, the favored topic of conversation is debating precisely what it is that Greckle should be Upon.

Despite the town's odd name, Sylvia says they come every year on their way into London. The people are jovial and quite welcoming and hospitable. It is largely a farming community, so John, who, as you know, is extremely interested in botany and agriculture, gets to spend several days learning from and exchanging ideas with the area's farmers. While John is making his rounds, Sylvia works on updating their wardrobes. John succumbs to an hour or two for measuring and discussing what he needs, then he escapes to the farms and Sylvia oversees the rest, until he must return for the final fittings.

I asked Sylvia about what seemed an odd location for updating a wardrobe. I thought that London would be home to the most elite of the creators of fashion, or France at the very least. Sylvia reminded me of precisely why France is not a good choice as a travel destination at the moment–indeed, I wondered how I could have forgotten for even a moment as you are off battling the French–and she did concede that by and large, in the immediate absence of high French fashion, the tendency was to secure the services of a handful of seamstresses and modistes that are currently en vogue. But then she leaned in and whispered with a chuckle that Greckle-Upon- was one of England's rarest gems, at least as far as fashion is concerned.

The proprietress of the shop Sylvia visits is a French woman who fled France just steps ahead of their Revolution. She found work in London as a seamstress, but despite her commendable work, was never able to rise in rank to a top seamstress, nor was she able to earn enough to open her own shop. Consequently, when a handsome and charming young farmer she fancied proposed marriage, she accepted. Madame Granger is content in her life as a wife, mother, neighbor, and soon-to-be grandmother, but she still enjoys fashion and happily takes on Sylvia's new wardrobe, and that of a few select others, each year. The extra work, she says, keeps her hands and mind busy now that her children are grown, and the extra income has helped them through the times when the crops did not bring in as much as had been hoped, and added to their savings in the more profitable years. Her fabrics she gets from London, through contacts she made as a seamstress there. Much of what she gets are the bolts that did not sell by the end of the Season, so she is able to get them at very low prices, though she does have a fair selection of newer fabrics as well. She scoffs at those who declare a fabric to be passé: "It is the fashion, not the fabric, that grows old," she decrees. Sylvia quite agrees with her.

After a brief tour of the shop, we began looking at the fashion plates and comparing them to fabrics, constructing the many gowns Sylvia would need for the coming months. I have never seen so many luxurious fabrics all at once! Silks, satins, velvets…even the plain cottons and muslins were softer and more beautiful than any I have ever beheld! After some time, Sylvia draped a beautiful apricot-colored silk around my shoulders. I could not help but admire it, but a new silk dress was hardly in my budget, so I set it aside,and vowed to speak with Madame later in the afternoon about procuring one or two dresses for myself and a dress and suit for Nancy and Tim. A quarter of an hour later, Sylvia again found a fabric, a satin this time, pale green, if I remember correctly, that she and Madame declared had been made just for me. I agreed that it was a lovely color, but again set it aside once the admirations were done. After the third or fourth time this happened, Sylvia asked if I was feeling well. I assured her I was in optimal health and having a marvelous time helping her select her new wardrobe. She looked stricken, then determined. "Anne Elliot," she stated, and I shall never forget her words, "Anne Elliot, you have never in your life been spoiled by anyone. I have the means and the will to do so, and I will not be thwarted." Naturally, I began a protest, but she stopped me with a quiet, "Please."

Frederick, I knew not what to say! But as I looked into her eyes, I somehow knew that she would be utterly heartbroken if I did not allow her to do this for me. It bore an importance to her that I still do not quite understand, but it would actually, I believe, have been more rude and impolite of me to refuse than to accept. So I allowed myself to be persuaded to own an entire, new wardrobe: dresses, frocks, capes, spencers, pelisses, reticules, slippers, stockings, nightgowns, and all accompanying accoutrement, including hats, boots, and dancing slippers. It was exhilarating and exciting; something of which I would never have thought to dream much less wish for, yet here was both a dream and a wish coming true. Despite that, I cannot decide if I should be thrilled and delighted to have something far grander than I ever would have had, or should I feel guilty and ashamed to have allowed myself to be persuaded to accept such a generous gift which I shall never be able to reciprocate? As soon as I settle on one option as being the right and proper one, the other rears its head. I think I shall banish the feelings to the recesses of my mind to battle things out there without interfering in my daily thoughts and activities, and I shall settle, in the meantime, on a compromise somewhere between either extreme.

Nancy did provide some insight and assistance in settling my warring emotions. I was explaining my disquietude at Sylvia's gift to us (Nancy somehow got four new dresses and other garments while I got a look that warned me against protesting. So I did not. At least, not out loud; even when the generosity extended to a similar increase in clothing for little Tim.) Nancy said to me, "Miss Anne, if you don't mind my saying so, it's not really about the money. Not to them."

I did not fathom her meaning.

"It's like this, is how I see it: their Lordships have money enough to spare to buy several dresses and suits for about everyone in this village and not miss a farthing. They brought you with them because they wanted to share their time in London with you, but you will not be able to do all the things I am sure they have planned if you only have one or two gowns. They know your circumstances do not rival theirs, and it would never have occurred to them to invite you if they were not going to provide you with all that you needed for your visit—needs that include more than just a few meals and a place to stay; needs that include a few new gowns and petticoats."

I was pondering her wise words when she added, "For them, you see, it's not about the money. It's about the importance. The money is not as important to them as you are. I know you are thinking of a way to repay them." I could not help but agree with her as I had been doing just that and despairing of ever being able to do so. "If you think about it, you will realize that if you try to repay the cost of their generosity, you will insult them greatly." Again, I could not disagree; that had been a large part of my thoughts. "What you should do," she advised, "if you insist on repaying them, which I am sure they have not even thought to ask of you, nor do they expect, is to return their kindness with something of equal importance, not of equal monetary value."

Frederick, I must admit to being somewhat awed by Nancy's words. They made perfect sense and went far in settling my mixed feelings about the entire situation. I have decided that I do have the ability to repay them, I will just have to think about what I can find to be of equal importance. As it must be fitting and proper and perfect, I will not rush into my decision but will wait until the right moment or action or whatever it is that I am seeking presents itself. I will be ever watchful, but will not make a headlong dash into an imperfect decision.

Nancy's wisdom was confirmed by John just a day or two later. One afternoon, Sylvia was not feeling well (not ill, precisely, just in need of an afternoon rest), so John invited me on a walk around the town. In his gentle, casual way, he let me know that he had been worried about his wife. She had miscarried last year (something which was not widely known, and was a surprise for me to hear), and had not been her usual exuberant self ever since. They had almost not gone to Bath as Sylvia had not the energy or enthusiasm for the trip, but John reminded her of the orphanage, and they, as you well know by now, ended up traveling to Bath for the winter season. Since meeting me, he said, he had seen Sylvia regain her former composure and it made his heart glad to see her so. Since marrying him, he felt she had never had a true friend, someone who liked her for being just Sylvia and not a Countess, until she met me. He then thanked me! He sincerely thanked me from the bottom of his heart for accompanying them to London! I was in a state of disbelief—he paid for a lavish breakfast to appease my shallow family, and is paying for my travel expenses, and complete wardrobes for me and my servants, and he is thanking me? I was aghast; it was beyond my comprehension. But after putting his words together with Nancy's I began to understand that perhaps Nancy was more right than even she realized.

It is quite awkward, if I admit the full truth of it. Only twice in my life have I been that important to anyone at all, and I am not quite certain how I am supposed to handle it because it is the first time I have not been left alone because of it. The first person, of course, was my mother. She left Elizabeth to my father because he would not have it any other way, so my mother showered me with her affection and I loved her dearly. But she died and I was alone. Oh, I had my family, but it is not the same. Then there was you, dear Frederick ...

I felt alive when you were with me ... and the world felt so beautiful when we were together ...

But then … you … left … and now …

Please excuse me—


	17. London Experiences, cont.

Please forgive me for leaving you just now. My words above starkly reminded me that I am without you. It is never far from my mind, of course; however, as Mrs. Tompkins promised it would, the edge of the pain has receded and I am presently able to bear it on a daily basis. She did have the foresight, and sadly, the experience, to warn me that even once the stark feelings are under control, there will be times when the pain will strike unexpectedly, and that is what happened just now. I was blindsided by grief and needed a few moments to compose myself. I feel I have regained control of my emotions now, which pleases me exceedingly as I still have much to share.

I believe I shall tell you of some of the people I have encountered here as the remainder of our time in Greckle-Upon- and our subsequent journey into London was rather unremarkable.

Within a few hours of our arrival, calling cards and invitations began to appear, though we chose to remain at home for the first three or four days before accepting invitations. We used the time to rest from our journey, get unpacked (though admittedly, the maids and valet did the bulk of that; still, we did our best to assist), and John and Sylvia took me to see sights such as Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, and so many more! It was quite exhilarating to see all the places about which I have only read all these years.

Once we began attending the functions to which we were invited, I was initially awestruck by the grandeur, the jewels, the music, the…well, everything I saw! It was all so magnificent! I have never seen anything quite like what I have seen in London. After a few balls, teas, morning visits and other such outings, the excitement dimmed somewhat, and routines and patterns began to emerge. I do not wish to convey the idea that I no longer enjoy our social engagements as nothing could be farther from the truth, but neither am I any longer struck dumb by my sometimes elaborately ornate surroundings.

I do enjoy most of our engagements, but I do not know how anyone can want to attend any one event for more than an hour or two at a time. Usually within three-quarters of an hour, I begin to find the press of strangers around me to be nearly suffocating and have no desire other than to escape to find fresh air to breathe, or, at the very least, a space as wide as my outstretched arms that is free of other people. I alarmed John at our first ball. He says that I was looking around maniacally, a phrase he later admitted as being a slight exaggeration, but that I did look quite enough unlike myself to cause him some alarm. He deduced the problem and escorted me to a chaise on the edge of the room, far enough from the areas of highest population and traffic, but still close enough to watch the dancing and enjoy the music. He warned me to never leave the main room without him or Sylvia at my side, even to take a breath of fresh air on the terrace. It was sage advice, wisdom I have heeded at every event since that night. Being a wallflower has proven to be a most enjoyable method of enduring such engagements as I have met the most interesting people while perched on various seats.

The first such person was one Mr. MacDonald, whom I met at that first ball. He hails from Shropshire, and is a widower with limited funds, but a large estate and quite a bit of land. He has enough income to live upon, but was in London to seek another wife—not an heiress, he assured me—just one with dowry enough that he could use to invest in his livestock. I did not understand the particulars, but he has devised some sort of idea for improving his cattle, but has not enough to fund his research or create an adequate breeding program to carry out his experiments. I do wish you could have seen him as he was quite animated and alive when discussing his animals with me. In the presence of other women, however, specifically eligible, marriageable women, he was all clumsiness and devoid of words. When said women left us, Mr. MacDonald would fall back on his seat, disgusted with himself for his ineptitude.

He is not an unattractive man (fear not, my Frederick, whatever my opinion or statement of another man's appearance, none will ever be as handsome to me as you are), nor is he terribly advanced in age—I believe his in early in his third decade of life. Sadly, his wife died but two years ago, leaving him with a young daughter whom he adores. He is seeking a mother for her as well as a dowry for his farm. He despairs of finding either due to his present state of nervousness around eligible women. It does not help that they are attracted to his appearance and energy from afar, only to turn their backs on him with derision or ridicule because he either cannot speak or, if he ever does find his tongue, only speaks of livestock.

I did my best to assure him that the woman he sought would happen along at an unexpected moment, and that he should cease making such exertions in his quest. Naturally, he cited his needs as reason to keep on his current course. I asked him what he would do if he could separate his search into two parts: one for his agricultural endeavor, and one for another wife. He smiled ruefully, claiming he did not know how that would be possible. He had married for love the first time and would like to be able to so again, when the time was right. And he had approached banks and agricultural societies in search of funding, but the banks were uncooperative, claiming his was not a large enough study to warrant investment, and the societies did not even grant him an audience.

I told him that I may be able to help him with his search, upon which he offered me a look of disbelief. I stopped a passing footman and asked him to request the Earl of DuCheyne to meet me in my little corner of the room. Mr. MacDonald was aghast, stating with complete confidence that an Earl would not listen to his ideas and would probably not come at my bidding at any rate. As you guessed, John arrived a few minutes later with Sylvia on his arm. After assuring them of my continued good health, I informed them that I simply could not allow the evening to pass without introducing them to Mr. MacDonald, who had some brilliant ideas related to the breeding and raising of cattle and other livestock. John, of course, was immediately intrigued. He coerced a confounded Mr. MacDonald from his speechless state and appeared interested in his ideas. They made an appointment to meet the next day with Mr. Reynolds, who had followed from Bath and had arrived the day before. Prior to his departure, Mr. MacDonald embraced me rather exuberantly and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "Thank you," he rasped before turning to leave before his emotions completely overcame him.

Somehow, news of the meeting made the rounds and ever since I have been the object of many an interested person—both male and female—who are hoping to secure a connection to the Ashtons, or their purse strings. I am wooed with promises of undying devotion, shiploads of diamonds, and eternal friendship if I would just speak a small word in His Lordship's or Her Ladyship's ear. I make no promises, for those who are attempting to use me to gain the attention of my friends are precisely the type of people they work to avoid. I find it hard to believe that these people think that their false promises will sway me, but superficiality and gossip are the rules most seem to live by and I suppose none know I have lived among social artifice long enough to see thorough it at once. While I agree to nothing offered to me, neither do I refuse outright any of the suggestions, as I have learned that a refusal generally creates a greater determination to achieve that which has been denied. Eventually, most end up losing interest and wander off to other, more profitable, pursuits.

Sylvia tells me that this behavior has made me among the most intriguing people of the Season. They simply are not accustomed, she says, to someone who does not gossip, does not make empty threats or idle promises, and does not care about the opinions of others. When combined with my refusal to dance and my preference to sit along the wall like the matrons when I am so obviously of marriageable age, the mystery grows, causing some to endeavor all the harder to secure my affections. Alas, to a person, they are unsuccessful. They know not that my heart is no longer mine to give, nor do I feel compelled to share something so personal with the shallow swains who flit from party to ball, from lady to lady. They are welcome to ferret out someone else's personal life and spread it through the gossip network, but I have no desire to be their topic of conversation. I do my best to keep to myself, but, as I have described, it does encourage some to exert greater effort to try to get me to reveal personal details. I have found that a polite change of location does wonders in preventing further personal inquiries.

It was after one such relocation that I met another person of fascinating character. He, like myself, cares not for the shallowness displayed by most of society, instead preferring to hover at the perimeters. We had been in London about a fortnight when I first met Mr. Darcy. I had felt the need to find an unoccupied place to rest as the press of young gentlemen vying for an introduction to John in the guise of wooing me had begun to be oppressive. I left several allegedly broken hearts in my wake, but had to remove myself from the prospect of drowning in their sycophantic avowals of eternal gratitude and devotion. I espied what appeared to be an unoccupied chair situated between a column and a rather large, broad-leafed plant. I made to my chosen destination with as much haste as etiquette and decorum would allow, only to find it was a love seat, with space for two, and the seat that had been hidden by the plant was already occupied by a gentleman who I later learned was Mr. Darcy.

Just as I apologized and began my retreat, he stood and offered his own apologies. That he would think to apologize for something so trivial and completely beyond anything he could have controlled struck me as amusing. It was terribly polite of him to offer the seat to me and the gesture was much appreciated, but before I could stop myself, I found the question of why he felt apologies were needed escaping my lips. It was impertinent of me, I know, but the inquiry was before us without my having first thought about it to prohibit from being asked. His countenance, already unsmiling, took on the appearance of stone. I felt he might have been summoning a response, but was uncertain as to what to say. After a protracted moment, I suppose he had not decided upon a suitable reply, so he bowed, intending to depart. I laid my hand on his arm to prevent such an occurrence and then offered my own apology. I asked him to please stay, that there was room enough for both of us to share the sofa. It took him a long moment of thought, but he relented with a curt nod.

I was glad, Frederick, because all of a sudden I did not want to be completely alone. That had been the goal I was seeking, but something about this man intrigued me and I wanted to speak with him for as long as he would allow. Do not fret, dear Frederick, as he did not, and does not (for we have maintained our friendship since that night) appeal to me in any sort of romantic manner at all, for my heart is with you, wherever you are, and even were you to return it to me, I would not give it unto another. As it happens, Mr. Darcy's affections are quite firmly ensnared by a young woman residing in Hertfordshire. Mr. Darcy is the owner Pemberley, a vast estate in Derbyshire, but he and his friend, Mr. Bingley, had traveled to the southern county to view an estate (Netherfield Park, I believe it is called) that Mr. Bingley was interested in leasing. He decided to take up residence at the property and after a time they both fell in love with the two eldest daughters of a local family named Bennet.

Naturally, I did not learn all of this in the one evening, as Mr. Darcy is rather taciturn and not inclined to confide personal details in those whom he does not know. As time progressed, we began to seek each other out at engagements; we do not both attend all the same affairs, but when we both are present, we have taken to spending our time there together. It has proven to be a most beneficial alliance for us both as the rumors now circulating have Mr. Darcy and I unofficially affianced or at the very least we have an understanding between us. Nothing could be farther from the truth, of course, but it serves our purposes well, so we neither confirm nor deny such allegations. The presence of such a rumor has very much diminished the numbers of people vying for my or Mr. Darcy's attentions. He is quite handsome and apparently in ownership of considerable wealth, which makes him the target for many a mother seeking a husband for her daughter, despite his constant frown and lack of conversation. (I have decided that he is simply quite shy, but instead of getting tongue-tied and agitated in the manner of Mr. MacDonald, Mr. Darcy simply refrains from offering comment of any sort.) As you know, I am interested in forging a romantic relationship with none but you, and Mr. Darcy's heart has been captured as well.

On this point, I am actually rather cross with him, which I shall attempt to explain. As I stated previously, Mr. Darcy has fallen in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and Mr. Bingley is similarly taken with her older sister, Miss Jane Bennet. For myriad ridiculous reasons, Mr. Darcy decided the match between his friend and the eldest Miss Bennet was completely unsuitable, despite their being equals in every manner, and schemed with Mr. Bingley's sisters to remove him to London where he might partake of a more appropriate connection. Mr. Darcy has told no one but myself of Miss Elizabeth's appeal to his eye, feeling it as unsuitable an affection as that of his friend.

He has recently returned to London from a visit to his aunt at her estate in Kent. Quite unexpectedly, Miss Elizabeth was also there, visiting her friend, Mrs. Collins who is the wife of the parish clergyman. For several days, Mr. Darcy kept his feelings in check until at last he could not contain them any longer. He visited Miss Elizabeth when she was alone at the Collins's home and offered his hand in marriage to her. Frederick, I was shocked and astounded as he described his proposal! He told her of his love for her despite the fact that her social standing was beneath his own, her family connections unbearable, and her financial status deplorable; still, despite these failings, he had been unable to quell his affections and did most astonishingly desire to marry her. He is quite in a foul mood at present due to the fact that, not surprisingly, Miss Elizabeth rejected his suit in no uncertain terms. I commented that I should quite enjoy meeting Miss Elizabeth Bennet so that I might congratulate her for her restraint, for if I were to have received a proposal such as Mr. Darcy had just described, I should not have stopped at merely repudiating the offer, but would have upended a bucket of ashes on his head and pushed him through the front door with a well-placed foot upon his posterior!

Mr. Darcy appeared dumbstruck at my words and shortly thereafter made his departure with a severe good night. I quite despair of ever seeing him again, as he does not quickly recover from blows to his pride, but I could not in good faith have approved of his actions, both in his utterly absurd proposal and in his separating Mr. Bingley from the woman he loves simply because Mr. Darcy feels the match unsuitable. No, Frederick, while I may miss his friendship and companionship at social activities, I must confess that I am quite put out with him just now.

I believe I shall end this letter here as I am getting quite sleepy and we have a busy morning planned for tomorrow. We will receive visitors for a spell in the morning before making our own visitations; after that we are going to view a new art exhibit and attend a luncheon meeting hosted by the Ladies' Aid Society for Orphanages and Foundling Homes in London. Orphans are a cause dear to Sylvia's heart, but she does not get as actively involved with the actual homes as she does in Bath because she is in London for too short a time, and the time she is here is filled with other activities from which she cannot excuse herself. Still, she finds a way in which she can be of assistance to the children and I am exceedingly glad she has chosen me to be her friend to accompany her to such meetings and events.

I am quite enjoying London with my friends, but I do wish I could be wherever it is you are at the moment. Or, failing that, I do wish you could be here—that would make this otherwise wonderful trip an absolutely unforgettable one which I would cherish always.

I hope you are well, wherever you are. All my love is with you—

Anne


	18. Caribbean Adventures, Part 1

"Land ho!"

A frisson of excitement shot over the ship like a well-aimed cannonball. Every man aboard loved the sea, but dry land was always a welcome sight. Frederick peered up at the crow's nest and aimed his telescope to match that of the lookout. Sure enough, a barely visible, pale gray knob nestled on the otherwise undisturbed horizon. He grinned, as eager as any of his crew to go ashore. He turned to his left and raised an arm in greeting to Thomas, who was captaining the ship they had captured just over a month ago.

They had been en route to Isla Diablo, having begun the final leg of their patrol route when they chanced upon a French ship, L'Etoile de la Mer, anchored off a remote island. The captain was one of the junior officers, promoted much too quickly upon the recent deaths of most of the senior officers; those who had not yet perished were abed in their cabins, in various states of extreme illness, and not of a condition to command the ship or its crew.

"What happened?" Frederick inquired in alarm, unable to imagine what sort of event could possibly have killed so many in a single blow, much less the entire commanding crew of the ship.

"Our doctor was among those who succumbed to the illness," Capitaine Georges Lacaze explained sadly, "so I cannot say for certain what it was that caused this tragedy; however, we have deduced that it was more than likely related to the officers' dinner, as the only ones who were affected were the officers and those who prepared their meals."

"Quite likely," agreed Frederick.

"I thought perhaps the cook may have done it on purpose, that he may have been a spy." He shook his head woefully. "Foolish ideas, I know, but—"

"You needed something or someone to blame," Thomas filled in.

"Oui. Yes. I stormed into the galley, prepared to imprison him for this imagined crime, only to find him in the final stages of the illness." He closed his eyes; a sigh rattled his chest. "I immediately regretted falsely accusing him, even if only in my own mind. He died but two days later, never having regained consciousness. His assistants have all died as well."

"How long ago was this?" Thomas inquired.

"The fateful dinner was served but ten days ago. The majority of the deaths were within the first three or four days after that. Our most recent death was this morning—our supplies officer." He absently traced a pattern on the table. "A good man. A good…friend." Another sigh, then he looked back at Frederick. "I am hopeful that the affected ones who have not yet perished will recover, but I do not know what it is we are battling, so I do not know how to attack. The crew are nervous, believing an evil spirit has cast a spell upon us and that they are doomed to follow their captain in due course.

"We anchored in this cove on orders of the Commander before he became too ill to speak. I have not been able to consider moving because right now, with so many officers dying, it is hard to get the crew to listen to orders, much less carry them out."

Frederick supposed the young man's inexperience was not working to his advantage, either, as evidenced by the relative ease with which he, Thomas, and Lieutenant Emerson, the Asp's Captain of Marines, had been able to board the French ship. Circumstances must be worse than the young captain was letting on if he was openly extending invitations to those he should consider to be his enemies. "Capitaine," Frederick began, "with all due respect, I would like to seize your ship. I prefer to do it now, peacefully, between gentlemen, but if you prefer, I will return to my ship and prepare for battle."

Capitaine Lacaze was silent for a long moment. "I suppose that is the option I should choose, to be forced to surrender under the dubious honor of battle; to keep the ship from being taken without a fight." He turned weary eyes to each of the Englishmen. "But we have lost enough lives already, I think. We have the resources, plenty of ammunition, all the gunners and crew. But we lack the spirit." He gazed at the horizon through the large window at the back of the room. "No. I do not think that a battle is right," he confirmed, voicing his thoughts out loud. "The cost will be too high, with the result the same: L'Etoile de la Mer still going to the British." A moment more in thoughtful silence, and he turned to Frederick, chin high, back straight. "You may have the ship, monsieur capitaine, but I implore you to be kind to the crew, do not mistreat them."

Frederick nodded, his good impression of the young man growing by leaps and bounds. It was not so very long ago that Frederick himself was this man's age, probably around eighteen or nineteen, and he did not know how he would have handled it if he had been thrust into a situation as dire as this. With everything taken into consideration, most especially this man's age and lack of experience, Frederick thought it was quite remarkable that a mutiny had not yet occurred. The Frenchman had more leadership skills than his insecurity allowed him to see if his crew were still looking to him instead of resorting to finding a leader amongst themselves. "I think we can come to an agreeable arrangement," Frederick assured him. "The fact that there is no damage to either of the ships and no casualties or deaths due to battle will only aid the case for leniency for you and your crew."

"Merci beaucoup, Capitaine Wentworth," Lacaze stood and bowed.

Frederick stood and extended his hand. Lacaze took it without pause, sealing their agreement with a handshake.

"Capitaine Lacaze, I will assign Lieutenant Harville the captaincy of this ship for the voyage to Isla Diablo. He is my second in command, and a fine captain. No harm will come to L'Etoile under his watch, I assure you."

"Merci."

"I could imprison you and your men on this ship, but I think that is a highly impractical option, though if you prefer it, I will understand. What I would rather do, as unusual as it may seem, is to divide the crews of the two ships."

"Pardon?"

Thomas smiled. Frederick had done this before. It was highly unusual, but extremely practical and remarkably effective.

"We have between us, two full crews of men, enough to efficiently run two ships. Though you have been quite amicable, I must protect both my men and yours, so I propose sending half of crew of the Asp to work on L'Etoile. In turn, half of your crew will serve on my ship until we reach Isla Diablo. This will retain the working numbers of men required to efficiently run each ship, but will hopefully prevent any resentment your men may have for such a peaceful surrender from generating an abundance of negative reactions. Any among your crew who do not cooperate will, of course, be imprisoned upon whichever ship he resides."

"This indeed a most unusual arrangement," Lacaze confirmed, "but it is a good one, I agree. What assurance do I have that my men will not be mistreated by your men?"

"You have only my word—"

"And mine," Thomas broke in.

"And mine," Emerson added.

"Capitaine Lacaze," Frederick continued, "I do not believe in cruelty. I am not deliberately cruel and I will not tolerate it from anyone under my command. The first of my officers to deliberately abuse a crewman, regardless of that crewman's nationality, will be the first to feel the lash of my whip. I assure you, I have yet to wield that instrument."

Lacaze nodded in awe.

"I have found it to be much more effective to treat with respect those with whom I work and those whom I command. After all, I tell them where to take the ship, but they are the ones who work to get us there. If they are unhappy with me, we may all end up in the wrong place!" Frederick ended with a chuckle.

The others laughed outright.

"You are a very wise man, Capitaine Wentworth," Lacaze observed. "It is my honor to relinquish control of my ship and her crew to your care." He bowed ceremoniously. As he straightened, his countenance was lighter, feeling the burden of responsibility he had borne the past few weeks being passed to someone of far greater capacity for handling it. "If I may be permitted to attach a condition?" he added meekly.

Frederick's eyebrows soared at the man's inquiry. "Oh?"

"I should like to be a part of the crew assigned to your ship, that I might have the option to observe your command and perhaps be permitted to ask you more of how to be a good and proper captain?" His request ended as a question, one filled with the hope of the appeal being granted.

Frederick looked at Thomas in mild astonishment.

Thomas grinned broadly.

"If I may, sir."

They all looked at Emerson.

"Capitaine Lacaze has a point. I've sailed under many a captain myself and have seen none finer than you. I even heard someone from the Admiralty say they were used to getting requests for men to serve with different captains, but seldom had they ever had so many requests for a crew to remain with a specific captain."

"And how do you know such comments were specifically regarding me?"

"Because I was there with just such a request in hand."

Thomas broke into a loud fit of coughing.

"I see," muttered Frederick, somewhat uncomfortably.

"When they saw my request, they put it on a stack of about thirty or forty others. The clerk showed me the top few—they were all from our crew on the Phoenix, where you were Commander. But word of your captaincy traveled fast among those of us who were still there in port, and we hastened to put in our requests to sail with you." He turned to Lacaze. "You're a wise man to want to serve under Captain Wentworth. He is truly one of the best ship's Captains England has to offer."

Thomas's coughing increased.

"I fear this adulation may go to my head," Frederick chuckled. "I thank you Lieutenant Emerson for your kind words. I am deeply honored that you hold me in such high esteem. The trust and respect that I have for you was earned through your hard work and diligence; you would not be on my ship otherwise. The same goes for every man aboard that ship. But I do thank you for your loyalty. It is appreciated far more than you can know.

"Capitaine Lacaze, I can hardly dishonor Lieutenant Emerson by denying your request. May I admit that I was going to suggest it myself, but did not know if your men would prefer for you to remain on your ship. Your request is quite reasonable and one which I think will benefit more than just you—it will settle any fears that those who are moved to the English ship may have."

Lacaze nodded. "I feel you may be correct."

"Now, if you are of a mind to provide a tour?" Frederick gestured toward the door.

The group filed out of the room after the French captain. Everything appeared to be in order until they got to the galley and its store rooms. The smell of scorched food permeated the smoke-filled room. The walls were covered with soot from what must have been a recent fire, judging by the condition of an obviously inexperienced cook. He jumped as the group of imposing officers entered, his eyes bulging brightly in panic from his soot-streaked face. He pulled off his cap apologetically, the cleaner blonde hair another stark contrast to his singed body, and mumbled in incomprehensible French.

Lacaze responded and the cook scuttled quickly around the group and out of the room. "My apologies, Messieurs. With the demise of the galley staff, we have been doing what we can to prepare meals, but it seems that no one among us ever has learned the art of cuisine. Each day, a different man bravely volunteers to feed the lot of us, all with varying results, each one more disastrous than the last." He looked around at the charred walls, the dirty pots and pans stacked everywhere, the remains of whatever it was the most recent cook had been attempting to prepare. He sighed again. Heavily. "I fear that it might be the lack of adequate meals that will push the men's limits too far, more so than any of the other devastating things that have recently occurred."

"Circumstances certainly make this situation understandable," Frederick reassured him. "It is easily remedied now, as I shall include part of the Asp's cooks to the crew coming to L'Etoile. We shall endeavor to get you and your men satisfactory meals during our voyage to Isla Diablo."

"That will be very much appreciated by us all, Monsieur Capitaine."

"Let us see the supply room, then, so that we can get an idea of what provisions will need to be brought over."

"Certainement." Lacaze led them across the room and pulled open a door, lifting a lantern high to illuminate the room beyond. The men all gasped in unison.

Every visible crate, box, barrel, and bag, even the bundles suspended from the ceiling, had been invaded by rats, many of which crouched in surprise at the human invasion. They quickly recovered and returned to their feast. Thomas gurgled in disgust and jumped backward as one particularly large rat ran across his feet. The stench of rotting food combined with that of the rats rose to greet them, forcing them to cover their noses and hastily retreat back to the galley.

"I…I…I cannot apologize enough, Messieurs," stammered Lacaze. "I had no idea…" He gestured futilely at the room they had just left.

"Gentlemen, shall we retire back to the Captain's quarters?" Frederick suggested.

When they had reconvened, Frederick took decisive control. "Emerson, go to the Asp and return with Johnson and Williams, Harrison, Laborteaux, and Lambeth. Current and next watches are to remain aboard. All others shall go ashore and be divided into teams to search for food and water."

Emerson headed to the door. "Wait," Frederick stopped him just as he reached the door. "Bring back Fletcher as well."

"Fletcher, sir?"

"Yes."

"Aye," Emerson saluted and left.

"Capitaine Lacaze, we will need three or four of your crew who can lead the others and who will be able to explain without inciting riot or ire what is happening. I am afraid that I do not have a command of your language."

In short order, Lacaze had explained the turn of events to his next four highest-ranking men. There was some initial grumbling of discontent at the lack of honor in not battling to save their ship, but the promises of sufficiently large, properly cooked meals seemed to quell most objections. In the same fashion as the Asp's crew had been divided, Lacaze's crew were also dispersed, with some assisting with the securing of whatever edible sources of food could be found on the island, while the others remained on watch or prepared to haul the contents of the supply room to the top deck for inspection.

When Emerson returned with the requested men from the Asp, Frederick gathered them in the spacious captain's quarters to explain the situation and inform them of their new duties.

"Gentlemen, may I present Capitaine Georges Lacaze. Ten days ago, his ship was struck by a mysterious illness that has decimated the commanding crew of this ship. He has, and I do agree with him, that it was something the gentlemen ate as the only ones affected were those who dined with the Captain or took their meals in the Wardroom or Cockpit, along with those who prepared the meals."

"Decimated, Captain?" inquired Harrison, the Asp's surgeon.

"Yes," Frederick confirmed solemnly. "At present, all of the officers save Capitaine Lacaze and two others have died."

Everyone at the table gasped in disbelief. "All the officers?" someone asked.

"I am sorry to report that is true," Lacaze confirmed.

"But how did you—?"

"How did I escape such a dire end filled with agony and pain? I do not know, but I assure you that I did not contrive to have my captain and other officers die. I have been…this is my first voyage as an officer, and I had hoped to wait several years to assume the role I now have only by virtue of so many deaths. I was content to be a junior officer, to learn my role and work, earn the command of a ship. I did not arrange for this to happen! I did not!" He pounded the table with his last words, his frustration and anger becoming harder to hide as more people became aware of the situation.

Frederick placed a calming hand on Lacaze's shoulder. "You did not, and no man here believes that you did." Frederick looked each man hard in the eye, silently conveying that he spoke the truth and would not be contradicted. "You have assumed with great dignity and honor the mantle that was thrust upon you, and you have acted as well as any captain would in making the decisions that were best for the crew."

Lacaze relaxed somewhat.

"At some point, Capitaine, I do believe you mentioned that you had been on watch that night, and had elected not to dine with the others. I believe that is how you have come out unscathed."

"Yes," Lacaze muttered. "I had been having a hearty discussion with the others on watch, and elected to stay there as I was not particularly hungry at the time."

Frederick directed his next comments to the members of his staff. "Capitaine Lacaze has relinquished control of L'Etoile de la Mer to my command, forgoing the opportunity to engage in battle so that there is no further loss of life. I commend him for his decision."

"Hear, hear," came voices from around the table.

"I am naming Lieutenant Harville as Captain of L'Etoile for the remainder of our voyage to Isla Diablo. As we have done before, we will divide the two crews, having a mixture of men that is approximately one-half English and the other half French on each ship. I shall leave the details of the arrangement to the ships' Masters," Frederick indicated Lambeth, who nodded his agreement. "Seeing as how there are no commanding officers left aboard L'Etoile, the command of each ship shall be overseen by officers from the Asp. Harville, I leave that to you." Harville, too, nodded in acknowledgement of the assignment.

"Mr. Harrison," Frederick looked to his ship's surgeon. "See to those who are still ill to determine what can be done to assist in their recovery. Investigate as you can what might have caused the dreadful illness that has taken so many lives."

"Aye, Captain."

Frederick turned to the two cooks he had requested. "Johnson and Williams, I am assigning you to this ship, as the cooking staff here were among those who died. Your first order of business, despite the condition of the galley, will be to empty the storeroom. Lambeth will oversee that venture, and we will acquire several men to assist, but the room must be emptied, scoured, and sealed against any further rat infestations. There is a chance that the disease which struck this crew came from those rodents. Once the storeroom is in satisfactory condition, you will clean up the galley and assure that all is in working order there. These are your primary duties. The cooking staff on the Asp will oversee the cooking for both crews for the time being. Should your tasks be completed prior to our departure, you will assist your colleagues; however, when the ships set sail, you will be on this one."

"Aye, Captain," the two cooks confirmed their understanding of their orders.

"Lambeth, work with Johnson and Williams to determine what is salvageable and what must be discarded. Report to me with the severity of the loss of rations, how much we can spare from the Asp, and how long we have until we must put in somewhere for additional supplies. I am anticipating remaining here for another three or four days to allow ample time for the cleanup and assessments. I have no doubt that we will need to stop for supplies before we reach Isla Diablo, so it may take us an additional week or two longer to complete our route than we had been planning."

"Aye, Captain. And Captain, if I may suggest setting up dining facilities on shore?"

"Excellent idea, Lambeth. See to it, will you?"

"Aye," Lambeth agreed.

"Fletcher," Frederick said to the young man hovering near the door, cap in hand.

Fletcher jumped. He could not figure out why he was here, among so many officers, when he was just a lowly seaman of no particular merit. He had found a spot in a corner and tried not to be noticed. He could not leave as Captain Wentworth had specifically requested his presence, but he could not fathom what he had done to be so singled out. "Y-yes, Cap'n?"

"Fletcher, you are to work with Lambeth in inspecting the food supplies as they are brought to the top deck. You will also work with Mr. Harrison in interviewing those who are ill or who can describe the symptoms of those who perished. You have impressed me with your botanical knowledge, not just that of English plants, but of particular note, the plants here in the tropics. I noticed some fruits, vegetables, and other fresh foods that obviously did not come from France, so they are likely indigenous to this part of the world. I need you to help determine if perhaps the illness is related to something specific that was eaten in the event it was not food tainted by rats."

"Ay-aye, Cap'n. It'll be an honor to help, sir."

"Thank you, Fletcher. If it is determined to be caused by a local plant, you will confer with Mr. Harrison to assist with producing any sort of plan of recovery for those who remain ill."

"Y-yes, sir," Fletcher stammered, nervously eyeing the two officers with whom he was to work. Lambeth was in conversation with the man to his left, but the doctor smiled encouragingly at him.

"Capitain Lacaze," Frederick said in slightly softer tones, "this is Reginald Laborteaux, our chaplain."

Lacaze was speechless for a long moment. He looked at Frederick with gratitude. "Capitaine Wentworth, you have surely thought of everything! I thank you…thank you!" He turned to the chaplain, his composure failing rapidly. "We have had no proper burials. It all happened so quickly…" Laborteaux gently guided the distraught man to the far corner of the room.

Frederick cleared his throat and blinked rapidly a few times. "Gentlemen," he addressed those remaining at the table, "shall we adjourn? I will take any questions you may have when we are topside." He left, confident that the others would follow him and allow the chaplain and Lacaze some privacy.

Fletcher watched the men file by, wondering where, precisely, he was to go.

"Fletcher, is it?"

He turned startled eyes to the surgeon.

"It seems we are to work together."

"Y-yes."

The surgeon held up an arm, inviting Fletcher to precede him from the room, then pulled the door closed behind them. "Do you know the Captain well?" he asked cheerfully as they made their way up the stairs.

"Sir?"

"Your botanical knowledge?" Harrison prompted.

Fletcher gulped nervously. "I swear I didn't know—well, I knew, but I didn't know he would—"

Harrison laughed. "Son, this is not an inquisition," he assured the young man. "I was merely making conversation, wondering how you had had the opportunity to impress our good Captain."

"I am so sorry! It was just one time…and so long ago!"

Harrison took Fletcher by the shoulders and gently pushed him to sit atop a nearby chest, while he chose to occupy a neighboring coil of rope. "Fletcher," he said sternly.

The seaman stopped his fidgeting.

"Tell me about this one-time, long-ago meeting you had with Captain Wentworth."

Fletcher was momentarily dumbstruck. First the Captain had singled him out because he knew a bit about plants, and now the good doctor wanted to talk with him? "Shouldn't I be getting down to the galley, sir?" he asked, knowing he would soon be called to task for shirking his duties, whatever those duties might be. His head was spinning at the afternoon's events, so he was not entirely certain what it was he was supposed to be doing.

"Nonsense, m'boy! Captain was quite explicit—you're to be inspecting the food as it's brought topside. Can't do that if you're down there hauling boxes and barrels, now can you?"

Fletcher shook his head in agreement.

"Very good. Now then, out with it. I love a good story."

"Uh, well, sir, it's not all that interesting, but I'll tell what I know."

"Always a good plan."

"It was one day, this past spring, at the monastery on Isla Diablo—"

"Monastery?"

"Yes, sir."

"You planning on taking orders?"

"No, sir. Nothing like that. I was in the gardens they have there—"

"The gardens?"

"Yes, sir."

"This was in March, April?"

"Around then, yes."

"We'd just come off of nearly six months at sea, with minimal shore leave, and you go…to a monastery?"

"Yes?" Fletcher confirmed with a hint of uncertainty.

" 'S'alright, m'boy. Just unusual is all. Most times you young ones head straight to drink and doxies, and not necessarily in that order."

"Oh," Fletcher cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, sir, but all drinking does is fill your head with pain and leave an empty spot in your wallet. Me mum always told me it's better to keep your coins if they're not buying something to improve the world—"

"Sensible lady, I dare say."

"—and better to fill your head with knowledge than with beer."

"She's a wise woman."

"She was, at that, sir."

"Was?"

"She died a few years ago."

"I'm sorry, son."

" 'Twas a hard loss, to be sure, but I've made my peace with it, and I do my best to live by her words. She's no longer walking the earth, but there are times when I feel she is about to thunk me on the head with her wooden spoon if I'm about to do something idiotic."

Harrison chuckled. "I know the feeling. Felt that way m'self for years after my own mother passed on."

"Yes, sir."

"Do the others bother you?"

"The others, sir?"

"Your mates. They head to taverns, you go to a monastery…" the doctor clarified.

"Well, sir, they do heckle me some, but it makes no matter. I don't care for drink and I don't like being broke. It is a bit easier, though, since I learned I could volunteer for first watch after we're granted our shore leave."

"Strategic."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I've diverted your story long enough. Please continue."

"Well, sir, I've always liked knowing things: how they're put together, how they work, where they come from. I got in trouble plenty of times for taking things apart to see what was inside. I had to work making deliveries for the haberdasher for six weeks to buy my little sister a new wind-up horse, and for six months for the watchmaker to replace my father's pocket watch. But I didn't mind at all. I learned so much about inventories, maps, plotting the best route, mechanics… it was glorious! As soon as I had learned what I wanted to know, I looked for something else to work on. Drove me mum mad, it did, trying to keep me occupied. The schoolmaster could only do so much, so my parents reached out to neighbors, shopkeepers, farmers, anyone who would take me on for a few weeks in exchange for me asking questions and exploring the new worlds. That's how I came to be here, sir."

"Eh? How's that?"

"Well, sir, when I was an older lad, I happened upon the docks. The ships were so huge, the wharf noisy and unpleasant, but then I looked up and saw the tangle of ropes, men climbing around the like the monkeys I had seen once at a zoo. I wanted to know, sir. I wanted to know about the ropes: how did they work, how did they make a ship move? Why were the ships in so many sizes and shapes? Could I learn to climb so nimbly among all those ropes? What was it like to sail, to have the sea beneath your feet? What was it like to—"

The surgeon laughed outright. "I understand! I understand!" He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "And have you found the answers to your vast array of questions?"

"I believe I have, sir, though I'm not certain I'm done asking questions."

The doctor guffawed some more.

"Ah, a spark of merriment! Most welcome, indeed," a shadow fell over the two men as someone approached them at their out-of-the-way resting spot.

Fletcher paled and scrambled to his feet. "Captain Wentworth, sir!"

Frederick waved his hand in dismissal. "As you were, and tell me why our surgeon is so chipper." He took the seat next to Fletcher.

"Uh, sir, I was just telling him of our visit to the garden, sir."

Frederick turned to Harrison. "You found this to be amusing?" He sounded stern, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. "Do continue, Fletcher, so that I might see that day in a different light. I was not aware of any overwhelming humor that day."

"He had not yet gotten to the gardens, Captain," Harrison explained. "He was telling me how he had come to be a sailor."

"Ah," was all Frederick said, but a grin showed he understood and shared the doctor's amusement. "Well, Fletcher, let us have your story."

"Surely, sir, you would do a better job of it than I?"

"Perhaps, if it was my story Mr. Harrison wanted to hear. But, alas, he has asked for yours, and I fear I would fail remarkably at relating your perspective of events."

"Oh. Uh. Um," Fletcher cleared his throat nervously.

"Come, now, lad," the doctor urged. "Shore leave…first watch…gardens…" he prompted.

With a cautious sidelong glance at Frederick, Fletcher focused his gaze upon the jovial man and continued. "I was walking through the city, seeing what there was to do when I noticed the flowers. They were larger, more vivid, brighter than anything I had ever seen at home. I felt that surely they were not, could not, possibly be real. But they were! I was drawn into the garden. I paid the fee and wandered the trails they had.

"On my second turn through, I chanced upon one of the groundskeepers. A kindly monk, he patiently answered my questions at first, in the manner he uses with any other visitor who has a minor curiosity. He quickly realized that I wanted more in-depth knowledge than is customary from visitors and invited me to return the following morning. From that day forward, whenever we have been ashore, I have worked with the monks, learning as much about their plants as they could teach me.

"It was one of the days I was working there that I happened to see Captain Wentworth. He seemed as entranced with the flowers as I had been, so I took him on a tour myself, sharing what I had learned. By then I had progressed far beyond the flowers and told him of plants, trees, insects, birds, and so on."

"An amazing memory, by all accounts," Frederick commented. "I was quite intrigued."

The doctor nodded, seeing clearly for himself what had impressed their Captain.

"And, well, that's it," Fletcher ended his story. "We set sail soon after, and have had only a few short shore leaves since, so I never saw Captain Wentworth again at the gardens."

"A Captain's duty is never done," Frederick lamented. "I have, unfortunately, many obligations and demands on my time, but I do visit the monastery's gardens whenever I have the opportunity to do so."

"Yes, sir."

A moment of silence passed among the men before the surgeon said, "Captain, it seems Fletcher, here, is uncertain of his importance to the task at hand."

"Is he?" Frederick looked inquiringly at Fletcher.

"Yes, sir," Fletcher croaked.

"Well, Fletcher, we did meet only once, so many months ago, but your memory, your knowledge, was quite impressive. I have been following your progress ever since."

"You have?" Fletcher squeaked.

Frederick smiled. "Yes. I have. Someone with your intelligence should be doing more than swabbing decks. Lieutenant Swanson has been telling me stories of things you have done that have improved performance – of men and machines alike – and helped every man on your shift to work more quickly and more efficiently. I remain impressed, but I admit that I am not surprised. A mind like yours will not be content doing only menial tasks.

"And that is precisely why I have called upon you to assist with the matter at hand. It is of utmost importance. I want you to work with Lambeth," Frederick waved his hand in the direction of the Asp's master, who was overseeing the placing of the first of the barrels coming up from the galley, "in inspecting the food. Nearly anyone will be able to discern if the food is rotting. But, I need your sharp mind and eagle's eyes to be on the lookout for things that could be harmful that the rest of us do not yet know about.

"I want you to work with Mr. Harrison when he sees to the French officers who are ill but have not yet perished. You will be there when the surgeon interviews those who witnessed the men as they became ill and died. Do the sick exhibit any symptoms or do the witnesses describe anything that you know to be synonymous with ingesting something poisonous?

"I do not know that the illness can be blamed on the rats and the diseases they carry. I do not know it is due to a deadly plant. But I need all of the angles explored, and your vast knowledge of indigenous botanical matter is an invaluable resource at this moment. Will you do as I have asked?"

"Y-yes, sir. It will be an honor, sir," he nodded to Captain Wentworth, "and to work with you, too, sir," he nodded at Mr. Harrison.

"Thank you, Fletcher. I'm sure we will get along just fine," Harrison said as he rose. "And now, it seems we should be getting on to the first of our tasks." The other two men stood. "Let us head below and see to the sick ones, shall we? Lambeth has his hands full arranging the barrels, and we'd just be in the way at the moment."

"Aye, sir."

"Very good, then. Carry on, you two, and I'll expect a full report this evening."

"Aye, Cap'n," Mr. Harrison acknowledged with a salute before turning to head down the stairs.

Fletcher gave a salute and a nod before following the good doctor back into the ship.

Frederick watched them go, his heart heavy with the thoughts of what they might find, before turning to talk with Thomas Harville about dividing the officers between the two ships.


	19. Caribbean Adventures, Part 2

Frederick tossed the logbook to the table as he stood. He glared at it a moment before wandering to a window to gaze out at the sea. He did not even know what he hoped to glean from the captain's journal as his French vocabulary did not extend much beyond the few words one learned in wharf towns and on the docks; and that small handful of words would not assist him in reading a ship's logs. Still, futile though it was, there had been hope of discovering something. Anything. Frederick was mystified at whatever beast had stolen so many lives in so short a time.

Thomas joined him at the window. The two friends stood in silence for several moments, each lost in his thoughts, wondering what had happened aboard this ship; wondering if it could happen upon the Asp.

"Anything?" Frederick finally asked.

"No."

"Damn!" Frederick's voice was raspy with the effort of keeping his frustration hidden from the others.

"We will figure it out," Thomas promised.

"Yes. But when? Are more going to die before then?"

They looked back at the table. Lacaze, two of his men, and Reverend Laborteaux were reading through the various log books and journals that recorded each day's events. Lambeth and Fletcher were reviewing their notes of the ship's stores and food supplies that had already been transported topside. Lambeth had reported that the store room was approximately three-quarters emptied, but he had called for a brief break as the men had been working without stopping for several hours.

Impatient though he was, Frederick saw the benefits of such a plan and had all the officers meet once more in the captain's quarters to exchange observations and perhaps find some new clues.

"That is the end of this one," Vincent, one of the Frenchmen declared, shutting his book with a quiet thud.

"Oui, this one as well," Lacaze stated sadly. "The capitaine ends with a note of excitement about a surprise treat after dinner, though Cook would not reveal what it was."

"Tartes aux pommes," piped Gerard, the third Frenchman.

"What?" asked Lambeth.

"Tartes aux pommes."

"Apple tarts," translated Laborteaux, reaching for the cook's journal from which Gerard had been reading. "Yes. It says here that one of his assistants found dozens of little green crabapples on the beach when they were collecting coconuts. Cook was quite excited and sent him to get more. It had been a while since he had been able to bake any pastries and he wanted to delight the captain with a simple yet sweet dessert—"

"Oh sweet Mary, Mother of God!"

All eyes turned at once to Fletcher, who was frozen stiff and pale as death.

"I say, Fletcher, are you ill?" queried Lambeth.

Fletcher's wide, horrified gaze landed slowly on Frederick. He opened his mouth but no words came forth.

"Fletcher?" Frederick was concerned as Fletcher's expression was rather frightening.

"Apples," Fletcher mouthed. His eyes darted around the room as his brain assembled the thoughts racing through his mind.

"What is it, Fletcher?" Harrison placed himself in front of Fletcher, forcing him to focus on the surgeon.

Fletcher looked directly into the doctor's eyes. "Oh, my god! Apples!" His chair toppled to the floor in his haste to leave the room. He was out of the door before anyone realized what had happened.

"Harrison?" Frederick asked in alarm.

"I have no idea," the surgeon confessed.

Frederick headed to the door, Thomas on his heels. The other men, just as frightened, curious, and not wanting to be left out, quickly followed, the hasty scraping of heavy chairs creating a din that no one noticed.

They found Fletcher in the store room, frantically moving the remaining boxes and barrels, looking, Frederick supposed, for some crabapples.

"Captain, I—" began a seaman who was standing to the side, nervously watching Fletcher's frenetic actions in what had, up to this point, been a very orderly procedure.

Frederick quieted him with a wave of his hand and a calm look.

Only mildly reassured, the sailor took a step back, joining his mates along the far wall.

Two, perhaps three, eternal minutes later, Fletcher stilled, having found what he sought. Hidden just out of sight—presumably to keep any officers from snooping out their surprise—behind a crate standing next to two barrels just inside the door to the left was an open-top box. It was small, about eighteen inches square and six or seven inches high, and about half-filled with small, green fruits that, by all appearances, did indeed appear to be crabapples, but something about Fletcher's countenance as he carefully pulled the box from its hiding spot alerted Frederick that perhaps the tiny fruits were not all that they appeared to be.

Frederick, Thomas, and the men who had trailed behind them crowded around Fletcher and the box of innocent-looking fruit before them. Baffled at the significance of the discovery, they began questioning him, but Frederick stopped them with a stern cough.

"Fletcher," he said loudly enough for the sailors standing behind him to hear, "I thank you for your diligent search in finding these for me. Your efforts are much appreciated." He picked up the box. "Gentlemen, shall we adjourn back to quarters?" He led the way from the room.

Lambeth stayed behind to get the project of carting the remaining provision upstairs back on track. Then he pulled a still frozen Fletcher to his feet and pushed him back to the conference room, his stern words and glares quelling any questions the sailors may have had.

Around the large table in the captain's quarters, several logbooks had been pushed to the side to make room for the small crate of apples. The men stood with expressions of horrified disbelief.

"Surely these tiny fruits could not possibly be so vicious?" Vincent voiced what all of them were thinking. He picked up a small branch that held several apples. "There is no sign of disease." He gently squeezed a few of the tiny fruits. "They are firm, no signs of rotting." He raised them to his nose. "They smell ripe, sweet. I am sure they are as delicious as their aroma indicates." He pulled one of them off the branch and lifted it to his mouth.

The others watched in silence, not sure if Vincent was foolish or brave.

"Don't."

Once again, every head turned to Fletcher, who stood framed in the doorway. He made his way to Vincent, an air of gravity evident in his movements.

Vincent paused. "Why not?" he queried. "As you can see, there is nothing wrong with this fruit. You are grasping at straws, trying to create panic! It was rats and rotten food, nothing more, that killed our capitaine!" he declared, his voice rising in pitch with his anger, fear, and frustration.

"Vincent," Lacaze warned in low tones.

Vincent desisted but did not alter the accusatory glare he directed at Fletcher.

"You are correct in one sense, monsieur," Fletcher admitted. "Those apples are not diseased or rotten. They are healthy, ripe, and as delicious as you imagine them to be."

Vincent gloated. "You see?" He looked at the grim-faced men around him. Their stern, unmoving countenances caused his confidence to waver, whatever else he had been going to say dwindling to embarrassed silence.

Fletcher pulled his hand up into his sleeve and, using the fabric to protect his fingers, plucked the branch from Vincent's grasp and placed it on the table. "Monsieur, your hand, please."

Vincent was puzzled.

"It was not rats," Fletcher stated quietly, lifting Vincent's arm by the cuff of his coat sleeve.

Harrison gasped.

"What?" Vincent looked down and sucked in a breath. His hand was turning red in irregular stripes, and pain was quickly following, increasing in intensity with the vividness of the discoloration. "What is happening?" he cried in alarm. "Make it stop!"

Harrison hurried over and took Vincent's arm from Fletcher. "What is it?" he inquired.

"Manzanilla de la muerte."

"What?"

Fletcher pointed to the box of apples.

"I read of that in the cook's log, Gerard volunteered. "He had seen some at another location, but was prevented from taking any. The woman who stopped him kept saying 'Mozilla Martha,' and she chased him from the beach. He thought they must have belonged to her. When he saw them here, he figured that Madame Martha could not claim these, so he had some brought to the ship to make the Tartes aux pommes…"

"Would that he had a basic understanding of Spanish," Fletcher lamented.

"What does it mean?" Frederick asked.

"Manzanilla de la muerte," Fletcher repeated. "Little apple of death."

There was a collective gasp as they took in what Fletcher had just told them.

"But what of my hand?" Vincent ground out through clenched teeth. The pain was much more intense now, and the areas of deepest red had begun to blister. "How does that apple relate to this?" He thrust his hand at Fletcher.

"The Manchineel tree is native to this part of the world and is the deadliest plant I have ever heard of." He looked around the table, his audience rapt with attention at his words. "In England and France, we have plants that can be deadly, but they typically have warnings, such as spikes or a pungent odor, that warn or protect; most require some sort of preparation or ingestion to wield their power." He looked between the branch and Vincent's hand. "The Manchineel provides no such warning and can be gravely injurious upon contact, or deadly if ingested.

"The sap, bark, and leaves contain a poison that, as you see, causes pain and blistering upon the affected skin. Sitting beneath a Manchineel tree during a storm will cause the poison to rain down upon those who sought its protection, causing severe blistering on whatever exposed skin it touches. Smoke from burning Manchineel wood can cause blindness.

"The fruits are where the true dangers lie. Touching the skin is safe enough, but the smell—sweet and delicious—invites you to take a bite. Initially, the fruit seems to be all it promised, but within a quarter of an hour, possibly less, you begin to be aware that all is not right. First your mouth feels scratchy, as though you have swallowed pepper or onions. That does not last long as it is soon overwhelmed by a sensation of burning through your mouth and throat followed quickly by a feeling of not being able to take in enough air. Swallowing food or drink is extremely difficult due to the pain; speech is nearly impossible.

"Soap and water may reduce somewhat any external skin lesions and blistering, but nothing exists yet to ease the severe stomach cramps, vomiting, diarrhea, and possibly seizures. After several days, the innocent victim may begin to recover, with full recovery not taking place for several more days after that."

He looked at each man in turn. "What I have described will occur with just one small bite. Not even the entire fruit." He held one up for emphasis. "Consumption of more than a small bite, the entire fruit, or," he lowered his head in mourning, "more than one apple will produce the same effect to a much greater degree, and will in all likelihood result in death." He raised his eyes to meet Frederick's. "It is my opinion that the Tartes aux pommes were the cause of the mysterious illness that took so many lives." He gently placed the apple back on the table.

The air was utterly still in the cabin. No one spoke for several long minutes as they processed the information they had just been given. The mystery had been solved, no one doubted that, but now that they knew the culprit, it all seemed so much more tragic, learning that the deaths had been drawn out and painful, with nothing to ease the victims' suffering.

"Sir?" Lambeth broke the silence at long last.

"Yes?" Frederick looked to the Asp's Master.

"Those ashore do not know of the dangers…"

The reminder jolted Frederick from his stupor. "Right, you are. Lacaze and Lambeth, get the carpenters from both ships making signs to leave on shore warning of the dangers of the tree in both English and French. If there is anyone on either crew who knows Spanish, add that, too."

The men nodded their acceptance of the assigned task.

"Gerard and Emerson, you will go ashore to show the men which tree should be avoided and why. Remain calm and present the information matter-of-factly. It will not do to incite panic. Defer any questions about the deaths until later. I, along with Captain Lacaze, will present our findings later this evening.

"Vincent, doctor Harrison will attend to your had, then you will join the others on the beach to instruct and inform. Take care you do not make accusations or spill any information before we are able to provide it. Can you do that?"

"He can, and he will, Captain Wentworth," Lacaze promised for the other Frenchman, a trace of steel promising retribution if Vincent did not implicitly comply with Frederick's orders.

Vincent nodded slowly, promising to do as instructed.

"Harrison, you will interview Fletcher thoroughly, learning all you can about this tree, its poisons, the symptoms, the treatments. I will need a flyer made that provides comprehensive information about the tree so that it can be published and presented to all other English ships assigned to this part of the world. I would not have any more incidents such as this if at all possible."

Harrison nodded.

"Laborteaux, I will need you ashore as well, helping emotions to remain calm and providing spiritual guidance and reassurance as you are able."

"Aye, Captain."

"Captain Lacaze, Gerard, Vincent," Frederick nodded respectfully to each of the men, "I deeply regret the suffering that your captain and other officers and crew endured. On behalf of the entire crew of the Asp, please accept our condolences on your losses."

"Merci beaucoup, Capitaine Wentworth. Your sympathies and assistance are graciously accepted and most humbly appreciated."

Similar expressions of condolence were echoed around the table, all accepted graciously by the three Frenchmen on behalf of their own crew.

When the men had dispersed to their assigned duties, Harrison remained behind. "Captain? Might I make a request?"

"What is it, Harrison?"

"With his permission, I should like to add Fletcher to my staff aboard the Asp. His memory and intelligence are beyond that I have seen from any sea man, and his talents are wasted in his current position."

"I agree with you," Frederick stated, "but is he willing to make the switch?"

They both looked at Fletcher, who was quick to nod his agreement. "Aye, sirs. I would greatly enjoy working with the good doctor."

"Very good," Frederick agreed, "however, you currently have a full staff, I believe? Who shall you replace?"

"You can take Dickie Musgrove, sir."

"Are you certain?"

"Captain, Musgrove is the laziest cur I have ever had the opportunity to lay eyes on. He only volunteered to join my staff because he though it meant days in sick bay, napping. If he would apply half the effort he exerts to getting out of work to doing something productive, he would be a model citizen. As it is, he is barely worth the skin holding him together. He would benefit greatly, I think, from being assigned to Lieutenant Swanson in Seaman Fletcher's stead."

"Done and done." Frederick agreed. "I shall notify Lambeth and the purser once we are under sail once more. I think that there is plenty else going on at the moment."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Please see to Vincent's hand, then work with Fletcher to in compiling as much information as you can about this horrendous tree."

"Aye, sir."

Harrison left, Fletcher close on his heels.

When they were alone in the room, Frederick let himself drop into the nearest chair, burying his fingers in his hair. "Thomas, the mystery has been solved. Why do I not feel victorious?"

Thomas placed a snifter of brandy in front of his friend and captain, then took a nearby seat, with his own drink in hand. "Because, Frederick, when death reigns victorious with no chance of conquering it, there is no possible way to feel a battle has been won."

Frederick sighed. "I suppose you are right," he swallowed some of his drink. "But it does not feel right."

"No," Thomas agreed. "It does not."

The crews' remaining days passed largely without incident. Lambeth had arrived on shore in time to prevent the cooking fire from being lit as it had been laid largely with branches from Manchineel trees as they were extremely populous along the beach. Several men had skin blisters from gathering the wood, but washing them with soap and water eased much, but not all, of their discomfort, while bandages protected the inflamed skin. Only three or four of the French had sampled the little green apples dotting the beach, but they ate only enough to incapacitate them for several days; they were in pain and extremely uncomfortable, but they recovered. Their reaction to the seemingly innocuous fruit had been enough to steer their mates away from consuming any of the fruit themselves; and so, when the captains presented the reason for the horrific tragedy that had befallen the French commanders, the crew had no difficulty in understanding why the cook had used the fruit or in comprehending how truly horrifying the deaths had been.

In all it took four days to clean up the galley of L'Etoile de la Mer and to get rations divided between the two ships. It was decided to pull in to a small port town about a week's journey from their current location to replenish stores enough for them to get through the remaining three weeks to Isla Diablo.

An attempt had been made to bury the bodies, but it was difficult to do in the sandy terrain along the beach, and the firmer ground inland was so filled with trees and plants that sufficient flat space for creating graves was not able to be found. The bodies were therefore tightly bound and kept in a shaded area some distance from the camp. Upon their departure, Frederick had the bodies rowed to the ships to be prepared for burial at sea. When they were far enough out at sea, the ships were lashed together and Reverend Laborteaux delivered a moving tribute and eulogy for those who had departed so unexpectedly. Each of the deceased received a seven-gun salute as his name was called and he was given over into the sea. The captain was buried last, followed by a moment of silence. A twenty-one-cannon salute then paid highest honors to all of the dead. It was a moment that every Frenchman aboard the ships would carry with him to his dying day: the respect the English had shown for their fallen enemies. Frederick ordered flags on both ships to remain at half mast for three days.

When they arrived at the little port town of Santa Clara, they found that they had not been so far out at sea that the inhabitants of a nearby island had not heard the volleys of gunshot and cannon. They had traveled as quickly as they could to Santa Clara to tell of the battle that had taken place near their home. Upon the arrival of not one but two ships, it was deduced, albeit incorrectly, that a great battle had ensued and Frederick was hailed a hero for capturing a ship with so little damage done. He did offer explanations of what really happened to the small town's leaders, but while they agree that the deaths were indeed tragic, they largely believed what they wanted to believe, which was that Frederick had overtaken the French ship in a fierce battle. Frederick did not fight to make them believe the truth as they were not going to be in that town longer than it took to restock the ships' provisions.

Isla Diablo was easily recognizable now, and as they sailed ever closer, Frederick's spirits lifted. He would be glad to be on dry land again, it was true, but more importantly, this was their last patrol in the tropics. In two or three weeks, they would be at sea again, but this time their destination would be England's misty shores. Frederick would never argue against the beauty and warmth of Isla Diablo and other Caribbean islands, but he was an Englishman, and he preferred the climate and culture of his native land to that of any other, no matter its beauty.

He closed his telescope and looked over the activity of the crew on the decks below, and in the rigging above. It was a fine day, he thought to himself. A fine day indeed. The weather was beautiful, there was a captured ship to bring in—which would add to everyone's wallet in a most handsome way considering the excellent condition it was in; not much by way of cargo, but a fine ship nonetheless.

Frederick anticipated three weeks, four at the most, before they would again set sail. A week or two for inventorying the two ships and assigning appropriate credits to the entire crew. Another week or to provision the Asp and assure all was working as it should. He heaved sigh; how he would love to captain L'Etoile de la Mer back to England. She was new, only a couple of years old, whereas the Asp…well, Frederick supposed she might have been sailed before he was born. She was a trifle old, and wearing thin in some parts, but her carpenters knew her well, so he supposed it could be worse. Still, he cast a longing glance at the French ship before giving control of the deck to the officer in charge and heading below. It was time to begin the legions of paperwork that never seemed to end, and the addition of the other ship only increased the administrative work he would be required to turn in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Manchineel tree is just as dangerous as I have described. A quick Google search will reveal dozens of websites that document the dangers of the leaves, bark, and burning of the wood. There are countless stories, articles, and videos describing the results of eating the fruit. No deaths have been reported in these modern times because the public is well-educated about the dangers, and doctors are able to treat the effects of ingesting the fruit somewhat. But deaths from the Manchineel are possible and they did occur in historical times. Still, I encourage anyone who might be traveling to a tropical area to be aware of the Manchineel tree and to avoid it altogether. If you are in doubt about the little plum-sized fruit you just found on the beach, exercise caution and leave it alone. Go find an apple at a market instead.


	20. Making Plans in Bath

"Lady Russell! Welcome! It has been an age since we saw you last!" Sir Walter hastily rose to greet his friend and invite her to join their little circle.

Elizabeth poured a cup of tea precisely to Lady Russell's preferences—a touch of lemon, a spot of cream, no sugar.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Lady Russell accepted the drink as she settled into a plush armchair.

"I trust all is well?" Sir Walter asked. "We have missed your company these last few weeks."

Lady Russell smiled warmly at him. "I have felt the loss of you and your family as well, Sir Walter. I ran into a small bit of trouble at my estate near Brighton. I found it necessary to replace my steward and my butler, causing me to extend my stay there longer than I had originally planned."

"The clerk and the butler," Sir Walter exclaimed. "Oh, dear, that surely does not bode well."

" 'Tis of no consequence," Lady Russell assured him. "The butler was merely of an age to wish to retire, and the steward was relocating to another part of the country. Still, it did take some time to scout for suitable replacements and conduct the interviews and proper training so as to express my precise expectations."

"Of course," Sir Walter agreed solemnly. "One must take care to hire only the best staff as they do reflect upon the household. One wrong person could destroy your reputation, even if you are not currently in residence!" He shivered in dismay at the very thought of such a disastrous occurrence.

"That is quite true," Lady Russell admitted, sliding her eyes to the man seated to Sir Walter's left.

"Oh, Lady Russell, do forgive my atrocious manners in not introducing you to our new friend. He has become so dear to us these past weeks that it seemed as if you should already have known him. Lady Russell, it gives me great pleasure to present our friend, Seymour Ardingly, Baron Grandison. Lord Grandison, may I introduce the dearest friend of my departed wife, and indeed of my entire family, Lady Russell."

The Baron stood and bowed. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Russell."

"Likewise, Baron Grandison."

"Please," he protested as he once again took his seat, "you must call me Seymour, as my new friends do," he indicated the Elliots. "I insist."

Lady Russell took a sip of her tea, but said nothing.

"Lady Russell," Elizabeth chimed in, "Seymour has been most courteous in escorting us to the sights around Bath and to a variety of activities and events in the evenings."

"Has he?" Lady Russell's gaze grew calculating as she speculated about the relationship between Elizabeth and the Baron. Was a courtship underway, she wondered. It was certainly a good match, a very advantageous one for Elizabeth.

"Yes. It has been most enjoyable having a Baron among one's closest friends," Sir Walter gushed. "Why, he and Elizabeth have spent many an hour together seeing the city!"

"Indeed?" Lady Russell turned inquisitive eyes to the Baron. "And have you honorable intentions, my lord?"

"Indeed, he does!" Sir Walter answered. "We will soon have a Baron in the family," he chortled with glee. "Imagine! My daughter, a Baroness!"

"Well, that is very good news, indeed! Congratulations, Elizabeth!"

"Oh, he is not going to marry me," Elizabeth declared, sharing a knowing smile with the Baron.

"I am afraid I do not understand," Lady Russell confessed.

"Seymour feels, and I cannot disagree with him, that I should not settle for a mere Baron. We are both in agreement, and father as well, that an earl, or maybe even a duke, would be quite the lucky gentleman to have me as his wife."

"Never a truer statement has ever been uttered," the Baron ardently agreed.

"There are few whose beauty equal that of my Elizabeth," Sir Walter crooned in adoration of his eldest child. "She will surely be the most remarkable duchess of all time!"

"A Duchess," Elizabeth sighed in bliss, slouching back into her chair, daydreaming of the possibilities.

"This is most peculiar. Lord Grandison, forgive me for asking, but why have you been spending so much time with Elizabeth if it is not she whom you are courting? Which of Sir Walter's daughters are you planning to wed?"

"Anne!" Elizabeth barked. Almost immediately she smiled in apology for her unladylike outburst. "Seymour is quite taken with dear sister Anne, of course. I am far too beautiful to be a mere baroness, and Mary is too young and, I fear, rather sickly. Anne is not ugly, I will freely admit, but she is still rather plain, which is perfect for the position—not common-looking, but not pretty enough to draw attention away from those of higher status. She is also rather hardy and is so seldom ill, so she should be able to give Seymour the heirs he needs. She does not mind tromping about the countryside," she shuddered in revulsion, "so she will not complain when he leaves her there while he goes to London to handle his business affairs. I would be far too insistent on accompanying him to Town as I much prefer it to country life. Would anyone like more tea?"

Lady Russell blinked twice, three, four times, attempting to understand what she had just been told.

"Do you not think it a perfect plan?" queried Sir Walter proudly.

"But what of Anne?" Lady Russell asked on her friend's behalf. "Should she not at least meet the Baron first?"

"Ah, my dear lady, the lovely Anne and I have met."

Lady Russell raised her eyebrows in invitation for him to elaborate.

"Our first meeting was at the ball given here in Bath by Lord and Lady Ducheyne. I was quite smitten with Anne that night and desired to get to know her better so that I could pursue a courtship. I called upon her here several times after the ball until she departed for London with her friends. I must say that I got the impression that she was beginning to return my affections."

Lady Russell looked to Sir Walter, who nodded encouragingly, confirming what the Baron had just reported; however, she was not yet fully convinced of the propriety of the situation. "Why, then, my lord, have you persisted in courting Elizabeth when Anne is the intended recipient of your regard?"

"He is not courting me," Elizabeth snapped. "I am helping him get to understand Anne so that when he is able to go to London to see her, he will be prepared. You must admit that she has more than one mannerism that is quite peculiar."

The Baron explained, "I comprehend that it must appear that I am courting Elizabeth. In fact, Lady Russell, she and I are spending our time together as future brother- and sister-in-law, not as a couple intent on marriage. We are properly chaperoned at every outing and Elizabeth has not turned away any suitors nor given the impression that she is entertaining an offer from me."

"Quite right, Lady Russell," Sir Walter confirmed. "Seymour and I are using this time to work out the details of the marriage contract."

"Are you quite certain about this course of action for Anne?" Lady Russell asked Sir Walter with concern.

"Who else will marry such a plain, mousy thing as Anne?" Elizabeth quipped spitefully.

Lady Russell well knew of Anne's romantic nature, but knew also that there were more important matters to be thought of when considering a marriage. "Pray excuse me, Baron," she apologized before turning to Sir Walter, "but have you investigated his resources to ensure he will be able to properly support and care for your daughter?"

Sir Walter waved his hand in dismissal as if such concerns were of no matter.

"Lady Russell, I appreciate and admire your anxiousness for your friend's well-being," Baron Grandison stepped in to address her concerns. "I understand that you have been as a mother to these girls since their own mother died, and so you are as much a part of their family as anyone could be.

"Please be assured that I will easily be able to see to Anne's needs. I have four properties—two in the north; one here, near Bath; and one at Dover—and a townhome in London, as I am there quite often for business matters. My properties are self-sufficient and see a modest profit annually. They, along with an inheritance left me by my grandmother, provide me with an income of between three and four thousand a year. I am also quite successful at speculating and am seeing returns on my investments that increase my income by about half.

"I am not wealthy, but I do have the resources to provide a wife with all the necessary things in life. Anne shall want for nothing, I assure you."

"I see," Lady Russell held the Baron's gaze for a thoughtful moment as she considered all he had just revealed. "Well, that is comforting to know." She sighed in relief, though she made a note to herself to have his claims investigated. She was certain he was telling the truth; after all, why would someone only claim such modest funds when he could make himself appear all the more appealing by professing a much higher annual income. But it was easy enough to claim wealth or a title, and anyone, with a little coin in the right places, could certainly contrive to look the part. Anne would not think to thwart her father's plans, and that gentleman certainly did not appear to be at all concerned about verifying the depth of the Baron's claims, so Lady Russell determined that it would fall to her to look out for her dear friend's welfare. She would speak to Sir Walter privately later that evening to encourage him not to agree to a marriage contract until her investigators had confirmed that Baron Grandison was, in fact, who he claimed to be.

"Are you planning to meet with Anne in London?" Lady Russell inquired of Sir Walter. "Or are you planning to present Anne with a wedding upon her return to Kellynch?"

Once again, the Baron stepped in to reply. "I have invited Sir Walter and Elizabeth to travel with me to London as soon as my business matters here are settled. We should be able to depart in approximately a fortnight."

"London!" Elizabeth crooned in ecstasy, falling back in her chair once again.

"The invitation is certainly extended to you as well, Lady Russell," the Baron assured her.

"Thank you, my lord, that is most generous. I fear I will not be able to join you on your journey; however, if you will provide me with your directions, I may be able to join you in London in a few weeks' time."

"I would be delighted to provide my address. My residence in London is not in the most fashionable district, but it is in a good neighborhood and well-suited for several guests."

"It sounds lovely, and I do thank you for including me in your invitation."

"It is indeed my pleasure."

"Father," Elizabeth sat up in her chair, "if we are to London, I simply must have some new gowns!"

"Of course, my lovely," Sir Walter promised his eldest daughter. "We Elliots must look our best while we are the guests of a Baron!"

Appeased with the guarantee of new clothing, Elizabeth turned her excitement to the Baron. "Seymour, what kinds of events will we be attending in London? I must know so that I can order the right things."

He chuckled, and began to describe the types of balls, soirees, luncheons, and other activities they might expect to encounter during their stay with him in London.


	21. Isla Diablo Wedding

A flash of light caught Frederick's eye. He absently noted that the glare had come from the door of a shop across the street. His attention had not yet fully returned to the path he was on when his eye was snared once again by a vision of Anne, in a gown of blue, standing in the show window beside the door. The man behind him swerved with curses not so softly uttered at Frederick's suddenly still person, but Frederick did not hear them, his gaze was transfixed by the image in that shop window. What was Anne doing here? How—When—had she arrived? He knew with everything in him that this could not be true and shook his head to clear his muddled thoughts.

His feet made their way across the busy street quite without his knowledge or consent, and he soon found himself gazing up at her. Though it was not unexpected, the realization that it was not her, but merely a dressmaker's form, disappointment flooded through him. While he waited for his heart to resume its normal pace, he studied the gown on display. If it had made him think so vividly of his Anne, then surely the gown was meant for her. It was an evening gown, in the most wonderfully striking shades of blue, reminding him of the Caribbean waters. With the slightest turn of his head, the fabric shifted between blue, green, and aquamarine. A sash of pearls topped an overskirt made of several layers of sheer gauze in those same colors. Each layer was progressively longer and wider than the layer before it, enhancing the ocean-like effect, and tiny pearl beads suspended from the hems of the gauze gave the illusion of foam upon the waves. The accompanying gloves almost met the edge of the sleeves just above the elbow and, like the matching shoes, were of a deep azure silk. A long shawl made of the gown's pearl-trimmed gauze completed the ensemble. Frederick was instantly resolute: a gown that produced so clear a picture of Anne must surely need to belong to her. He turned to enter the shop, and nearly tumbled to the sidewalk as he ran headlong into a passerby.

"A thousand pardons, ma'am," he uttered absently, doffing his hat, his attention focused on getting to the gown before anyone else did.

"Captain Wentworth!"

The delighted, happy tone jolted Frederick from his single-minded quest and he focused on the woman before him. It was someone he knew, had been introduced to, though her name escaped him at the moment. She was, in fact, with several friends, two men and another woman. The man who seemed to be with the woman he had nearly run over picked up on Frederick's dilemma and interrupted the woman's chattering.

"Captain Wentworth," he said, extending a hand in greeting. "It's good to see you again. Simon August, my sister Laura, her fiancé, William Compton, and our friend, Lucretia Drummond." Simon indicated each person in turn and was pleased to see recognition clear Frederick's expression.

"Yes, I remember," he turned to Laura, "Miss August, how is your mare? Blue, I believe her name was?"

Laura beamed. "Yes, that is correct; well, her name is actually Baby Blue, but she is doing quite well, thank you. The foal was born without complications and is thriving. I am certain she will be as feisty and good-natured as her mother when she's older."

"That is very good news. I am glad to hear it."

Laura grinned in thanks, turning a loving look toward her fiancé, whose arm she held.

Lucretia, slightly put out that the good captain had not remembered something personal about her first, endeavored to pull his attention to herself. After all, he was going to marry her wasn't he? He just did not know it yet. She reached for his arm and fluttered her eyes at him. "Captain, we were just going to visit the gardens at the monastery for a stroll and some tea. We insist that you join us." She started down the walk on his arm, confident that her invitation was accepted.

Frederick deftly removed his arm from her grasp and directed it to Simon, who covered Lucretia's hand on his arm with a steely grip that did not let her withdraw, despite her attempts to do so.

"I thank you for the invitation, Miss Drummond, but, alas, I have several things I must do today, and they do not allow for time to stroll about the monastery gardens, much to my regret. It is a lovely afternoon, and a perfect one for such leisurely pursuits. I am certain you will enjoy your outing."

Lucretia conceded with a coy pout. "Our hearts are broken, Captain, that you cannot join us." She brightened with her next words, "But perhaps you can make amends by attending our next ball?"

"I shall make every attempt. When will it be held?"

"Two weeks hence," Lucretia informed him, grinning happily. "It shall be at the town square, and everyone will be there. It will be ever so much fun, and I shall make sure to save a dance or two for you," she promised.

"I hate to disappoint a lady twice in one conversation, but I will not be here in two weeks. We are sailing out at the end of the week."

"No!" Lucretia protested. "Surely you can postpone your voyage by just a week?"

"Unfortunately, that is not possible," Frederick explained with regret. "The Royal Navy has her schedules, and no one, short of Mother Nature herself, can thwart them. I am sorry."

Seeing Lucretia was getting riled and about to do something she would later regret—maybe—Simon stepped in. "Captain, if you will not be here for the ball, perhaps you would like to visit our plantation before you go? The girls have looked forward to dancing with you, but we all realize your schedule has not allowed that," his hand tightened on Lucretia's as she started to speak. "This way, while we might have to forego the dancing, at least they will have you to themselves for a day."

Frederick smiled. "I thank you for your invitation, and I accept with gratitude. For all my visits to this part of the world, I have yet to see any of the plantations. Would it be too forward of me to ask if my friend might come along?"

"Of course not, we would be delighted to have him as well," Simon assured him. "Shall I call on you later this afternoon to work out the particulars and give you time to consult your schedule?"

"That would be perfect," Frederick agreed. "Around five?"

"I shall see you then. We will leave you to your tasks now."

They all said their good-byes and returned to their previous routes. Lucretia looked over her shoulder in time to see Frederick enter the dress shop. She turned back around with a satisfied grin.

"What's got you in such a high spirit, as if I didn't know?" Simon asked.

"The Captain. He's mad for me."

"How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"Did you see how he crossed the street in such a hurry when he saw me?"

"Lu, he didn't even remember who you were until I introduced us all again."

"That's a lie!"

"No, it isn't. And why would he be interested in a little snot of a thing like you, anyway?"

"Well, I'm sure he has not met anyone prettier than I am, and my dowry is quite substantial, so he won't be marrying a penniless beggar-girl."

"You've designs on marrying him already? And he cannot even remember your name? You've seen him, what three, four times now? And those weeks or months apart? How do you jump from that to marrying the man?"

"I have to marry him!" she declared through gritted teeth. "How else am I ever to get off this stinking island?"

"There are easier ways to do that than consigning a man to a lifetime with you to get what you want."

"You're deplorable."

"So you've said," Simon agreed cheerfully.

"Stop talking to me unless you have an idea to help me get the Captain to marry me."

"Help you plot to trap a man into marriage? I don't think so. You're on your own, there, Twig."

"Don't call me 'Twig'! In case you haven't noticed, I'm not that scrawny little girl anymore!"

Simon stepped back an arm's length and looked her up and down, twirling her slowly by the hand he still held. "I stand corrected," he agreed, his brow raised in admiration of the womanly figure before him, one of which he had actually been aware for quite some time. "You are no longer a 'Twig.' You are more like a raspberry bush," he leaned in to whisper, "full-grown, at the peak of ripeness, berries ready to pick and savor, one by one."

Lucretia pulled back as far as their clasped hands would allow. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened, though she had no words to properly express her indignation. Simon noted with delight the blush creeping up her skin and the intrigue at his words that she could not quite hide.

"Speechless? I am impressed. Surely it's a miracle when Lucretia Drummond has nothing to say!"

"You boor! You jack-a-napes! How dare you speak to me that way!" She tugged at her hand ineffectually, trying to sever her connection with Simon. He grinned but did not let her go, enjoying all too well her discomfiture and reaction to his words. If he thought that she was truly offended by them, he would have let her go. As it was, he could see that they had excited her, and she was only behaving as she thought she should and because she had not been the one to initiate the shocking words. "Let go of me!" she demanded.

"Nope," Simon refused, actually pulling her closer and tucking her arm around his once more. He wondered if she was aware at how easily she matched her steps to his; he did not think so. "But I will let you choose. Which nickname do you prefer? Twig or Berry? Whichever one you select is the one I will use."

"I do not care for nicknames," she seethed.

"Too bad, for I have always called you by a nickname, and will not discontinue doing so. But I will let you choose which one I use. Twig? Or Berry?"

She growled low in her throat.

"You need time to think about it? That's a wise choice. In the meantime, I'll try them both on for size. That way you can make a better decision."

"You're absolutely, utterly, and completely without any admirable qualities whatsoever."

"So you keep telling me. Yet here we are, together again. Why is that, do you suppose?"

She growled again. "I despise you."

"I know," he confessed, and dropped a quick kiss on her temple.

She cast a confused glance up at him, but was quickly diverted by Laura calling to her. Simon let her go at last, content to walk with William and watch the women enjoy the gardens.

"Hello," the warm welcome came from just above her.

Lucretia carefully turned her eyes upward from where they had been watching the gangplank; the waters were swelling with the blustery day, causing the walkway to bob with each incoming and outgoing wave, making the trek into the ship a rather precarious one. But as she looked up, she forgot all her surroundings. He was there. Breathtaking. Handsome. The sun, just rising above the horizon, lit him like the strongest of the Greek gods. She forgot to breathe. His smile, the warmth of his eyes—the invitation was clear, his happiness at seeing her evident. She took his outstretched hand, and their touch reminded her of the perfectly laid out plan that had brought her to this moment…when she dreamed of boarding the ship as the wife of Captain Frederick Wentworth.

A few days after their meeting in town, Frederick and Thomas had, as agreed, spent the day at the August plantation. After enjoying a tour of the premises, they had lingered over a late dinner that also included Lucretia's father and uncle and the local minister and his wife, who were making their rounds of the plantations surrounding the bustling town of Isla Diablo. The gentlemen did not tarry long after the ladies had departed after dinner, but they found the number awaiting their arrival reduced by one.

"Whatever has happened to Lucretia?" Simon inquired, taking a seat across from his sister. "She never misses an opportunity to flirt with handsome men."

"She had a terrible headache, and begged to be excused early this evening," Laura explained, turning eyes to her fiancé and missing the suspicious narrowing of Simon's gaze as he looked toward the door through which they had just come. "She has gone up to bed already."

"I see," Simon drawled. "Well, let us all hope that she is much improved by morning."

Everyone agreed with him, and they turned their attentions to enjoying each other's company for the next couple of hours.

Upstairs, after Laura left—because Laura was not going to let her friend go to bed ill without ensuring herself of every comfort being offered and available—Lucretia congratulated herself on her cleverness in leaving the evening's activities so soon. She would now have sufficient time to set her plan in motion. She allowed her maid to help her change and get settled for the night. She waited a half-hour, listening for the chimes of the large grandfather clock near the bottom of the stairs to mark her time, before she stole from her bed. Tiptoeing through her room, she cracked the door open and was reassured to hear the merriment coming from downstairs. Poking her head through the doorway, she found the corridor to be empty. With greatest stealth, she eased into the hall and gently pulled the door shut behind her, then made her way to the bedroom that had been assigned to Captain Wentworth for the night. One last glance over her shoulder confirmed that no one saw her, and she stole into his room, pushing the door to as silently as she had opened it.

She did not see the dark servant hiding in the shadows of the heavy drapes at the far end of the hall.

"I wonder how long they'll be," she whispered to herself as she peered up at the moon through the window, careful to keep behind the curtains so as not to be seen. She sighed with pleasure, knowing there was no way her plan could fail. No one knew what she was up to; she had not even told her best friend, for Laura could not keep a secret when she knew that it would hurt someone. And Laura would know that this plan would only hurt the good Captain.

Lucretia sighed in resignation. "At least it will not bring him physical harm," she reasoned. "And I have to get off this bloody island or I will completely lose my mind!" She turned toward the bed, her heart pounding as she realized what she was about to do. She had a sudden vision of Simon, and she thought briefly about how disappointed he would be, but she quickly put all thoughts of him from her mind "This is the only way," she muttered, trying to instill in herself the confidence she needed to follow through.

She turned down the covers, wondering which side of the bed the Captain slept on. Then she giggled before she could stop herself, clapping a hand over her mouth, eyes flying to the door. She relaxed. Of course, no one had heard her. They all thought she was sound asleep in her own bed down the hall. Her hands trembled as her heart thundered. She turned quickly from the bed. "Calm down!" she chastised herself. "Just stop it! Stop it now!" She clenched her fists and breathed deeply. The pounding in her heart slowed—just a bit.

She flopped down in an armchair. "It can't be all that bad," she mused. "I've even heard it can be quite pleasant. We'll just sit here a minute or two and then get on with it." It took closer to a quarter of an hour, judging again by the clock below, but she did summon the courage to once again approach the bed. She sat on it then jumped up as if burned. Spotting the pitcher on the nearby table, she poured herself a large glass of water and drank it down in almost one gulp. She turned back to the bed, but suddenly realized that the glass she had used would look out of place, so she hurried back to the table, dried the glass with the hem of her nightgown and placed it once again upside down on the tray.

Just as she turned to contemplate the bed again, she heard voices just outside the door. Wasting no time in her need to hide should anyone peek in, she dashed to the bed and buried herself under the covers. Several moments later, it was apparent that no one was going to discover her brazen plan. "There," she grinned in pride, "just as planned. It can't go wrong now." She yawned. "I'll be waiting for him … he'll have to marry me…" her voice trailed off as her thoughts became fuzzy and her eyes grew heavy. "I'll finally get to leave this island…"

Now, here she was, hand-in-hand with the Captain, boarding the ship that would take her from the island she so longed to escape. She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of upcoming adventures.

She shrieked.

Having been riveted by the Captain, she had not paid attention to where she placed her feet and had tripped over the last step onto the ship. Captain Wentworth lost his grip on her hand and she was sure she was headed for a nasty meeting with the ship's deck. Before she could do more than topple forward just a bit, a strong, warm arm caught her from behind. "Watch it, Lu," came the warning a second too late. Two large, capable hands grabbed her by the waist and unceremoniously lifted her over the opening and onto the ship.

"Captain," Simon greeted Frederick with a grin, tucking Lucretia's arm through his, despite her struggles to free herself. "We greatly appreciate your taking us to Hispaniola. I don't think Lu's ever been there."

"It is my pleasure," Frederick assured them. "And there is much to see and do there, I promise you," Frederick directed his comment to Lucretia, "I think you will be quite delighted and diverted by the activities available there."

Lucretia smiled sweetly at Frederick. "Thank you, Captain." She turned to Simon, who was still holding her tightly. "Let go of me, you wretch!" She jerked her arm, but he did not budge.

"Tsk, tsk, you're getting tiresome, Lu. You already called me a wretch twice this morning. I had hoped that you would show a little more imagination." He sighed in mock dismay, finally letting go of her arm just as she tugged once again, causing her to stumble as she lost her footing.

Neither of them noticed Frederick excusing himself with a smile, both of relief and amusement.

"Lu, whatever am I going to do with you?" Simon reached for her hand, but she just narrowed her eyes and growled at him. He ignored that with a grin and grabbed her arm to pull her to her feet. "You were never this clumsy before."

"I never had vicious brutes manhandling me before," she ground out.

"Brute…," Simon pondered, "nope, you've used that one, too, but I'll give you credit for it because you haven't used 'vicious' with it before now. Well done!"

Her body tensed, building up steam like a tea kettle, and she shrieked in outrage. "Get away from me!"

He laughed. Loudly. With delight.

She stomped her foot and all but ran from him. "Captain!" she caught sight of Frederick heading up a set of stairs.

Frederick paused, waiting for her to catch up.

"Captain, this is such a delightful ship. Perhaps you could give me a tour?" she requested sweetly.

"Mrs. August, I will be delighted to do so, but right now my attentions are needed elsewhere while we get under way. Once we are safely out to sea, I will gladly show you and your husband all around the Asp, but I regret that I must leave you to the care of the ship's surgeon at the moment." He motioned for the doctor to join them. "Mr. Harrison, this is Mrs. August, recently wed to Mr. Simon August, of August Plantation. They will be with us until we get to Hispaniola. Would you be so kind as to show them to their quarters?"

"Certainly, Captain, be glad to," he offered a smile and an arm to Lucretia, nodding to Simon who stood just behind his wife.

"Thank you, Mr. Harrison," Lucretia drawled sweetly, decidedly ignoring Simon. "I don't think I have ever seen a more spectacular ship..." her voice trailed off as she went with the surgeon down the stairs to her cabin.

Simon and Frederick watched her go in silence. "Mr. August—"

"Simon," Simon corrected.

"Simon," Frederick amended with a smile. "Would you consider…"

"Telling you what happened?"

Frederick nodded.

"Happy to, Captain. Perhaps tonight, after dinner?"

"Excellent," Frederick agreed.

"Well, then, until tonight. If you'll excuse me, I need to see to my wife!"

"She's certainly a handful, if I may be so bold."

"That she is, but she's mine at last, and I would not have her any other way."

"I am glad, then, that things turned out the way they did. And, may I say, however your story turns out, thank you. I would have done right by her, I hope you know, but it would have been painful to do so." Frederick's countenance darkened at the thought of how close he had come to a life without Anne. Of course, he realized with an internal sigh, his life might still be without her, but had he married Miss Drummond, it would have erased any possibility or hope of ever being with Anne again.

"You have—"

"No," Frederick corrected quickly. "No." He sighed. "We did not part well. I have all hope that matters can be rectified upon my return. If other things had happened …" There was no need for him to finish.

"I understand," Simon assured him. "And I hope that you will believe me that I no more wished for her to marry you than you did."

Frederick was amused by that. "Then it seems we are both pleased with the outcome. If only the lady was of a like mind."

"Oh, she is. She just doesn't like that it wasn't her idea. But she'll come around. There are aspects of marriage that already she cannot do without, even if she is too ladylike to mention them." Simon's sly grin left no doubt as to which aspects he was referring.

Frederick cleared his throat.

Simon's good spirits would not be abated. "I've loved Lu for years now, but she never saw beyond the annoying almost-brother I was when we were kids. I know her well, and she'll come around in time. When she does, she'll be as fiercely protective of me as she appears ready to drop me overboard now. That's her way, you see, all or nothing. I just have to weather the nothing, or rather, the almost-nothing, part of it for now. I think that once she understands that I do not want to rein her in, that she can actually be more free now as a wife than she ever could be as a daughter—I think that once she realizes that, she'll change her outlook. But I assure you, Captain, that she will not be mistreated. Ever."

"Of that, I never had a doubt," Frederick assured Simon. "It is quite clear to everyone, except perhaps your bride, how devoted you are to her. I think you are correct, and she needs a strong hand to guide, not constrict, her."

"Thank you, Frederick. I appreciate that. And, please, know that you have a standing invitation to August Plantation." His eye caught a motion over Frederick's shoulder. "It seems you are being summoned. I will leave you to attend to your duties and see you tonight for supper." He headed down the stairs shouting, "Where's my wayward bride?"

Frederick chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, as he headed to the bridge to oversee preparations to set sail.

Later that evening, with the sight of Isla Diablo well beyond the horizon and the moon painting a picturesque streak of light across the waters outside the multi-paned window in the captain's quarters, Frederick, Thomas, and Simon relaxed over brandy and port. Dinner had been delicious and entertaining, with Lucretia, as the only female present, flirting with all the officers present and keeping everyone's spirits high. No one misunderstood Simon's role, however easy and outgoing he appeared; Lucretia may shower attention on whomever she pleased, but she belonged to only one man.

When the meal was over, Simon escorted his wife back to their cabin while Frederick discussed ship's matters with his officers.

"You were wonderful tonight, Lu," he pulled her into his arms as he kicked the cabin door shut behind them. He bent his head to nibble at the curve of her neck.

"What are you talking about?" she inquired grumpily, pushing him away with her hands but tilting her head to better receive his attentions.

"I think every man at dinner tonight feels he is the king of the world because of you. I don't know how you do it," his lips moved up her neck and into her hair.

"I am sure I do not know what you mean," came her breathy response. Hands that had been pushing were now sliding up his chest and over his shoulders, working to bring him closer.

He chuckled. "I am equally certain you do know what I mean, and that's just one of the many reasons I love you," he told her just before his lips enveloped her in a searing kiss that left them both breathless.

He held her close, her head tucked under his chin, after they broke the kiss. After a few moments' silence, he heard her whispered inquiry, "You love me?"

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair. "Yes."

"Oh." Was her only response, but he smiled to himself as she snuggled a little closer.

A moment later there was a light tap at the door. Simon opened it to reveal the young cabin boy telling him that Captain Wentworth was available now. Simon thanked him and asked him to fetch Lucretia's maid. The boy scampered off as Simon turned to his curious wife.

"I'll be back in a little while," he told her.

"You're leaving?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes. The Captain has invited me to help enjoy some of our native rum. I cannot refuse."

"But-but-we just—after—you can't—"

Simon smiled. "I see the excitement of our trip has taken your ability to speak coherently. A good night's rest should fix that," he teased, kissing her forehead as he would a child's. "Sleep well. Don't wait up for me." He turned to leave the room.

"You—you—you—" she stammered, her anger working its way into a full steam.

"Ah! Here's Melly," Simon stepped to the side to let the maid enter. "Melly, Mrs. August appears to be too excited to speak. You might give her some water. It seems to help her sleep."

"Yes, sir," agreed the maid.

Lucretia's eyes widened as she thought over Simon's words and took in their meaning. She sucked in a breath. "You knew!" she flew to him and started beating him in the chest. "You knew all along!"

He grabbed her wrists and wrapped them behind her back. "Yes, dear wife, I knew. Suspected, rather, but had an idea of the general plan." He bent her backwards over his arm. "You really should be more imaginative in the future." He kissed her long and hard. It took a mere second or two before she was returning his kiss with equal fervor. Coming up for air minutes later, he smiled deliciously. "On second thought, perhaps you should wait up. I would dearly love to see this through, see where it might lead." He whipped her upright and released her.

She staggered, but he caught her by the elbows to steady her. He pressed another hard kiss to her dazed lips and headed to the door.

"You—you—you can't just—"

He smiled. "But I must, my dear. Duty calls. Can't let perfectly good rum go to waste."

She rushed to the door and grabbed his arm. "But I like rum, too."

"Sorry, dearest, girls not allowed." He moved down the hall, laughing out loud at her cry of rage. "I love you, too, sweetheart," he whispered to himself just before entering the Captain's quarters.


	22. Appendix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter serves as a sort of appendix to the story, and, as such, will always occupy the final chapter spot. If you are on this page looking for the most recent update, please consult the drop-down chapter list, and select the chapter before this one. That is where the most recent addition to the story is located. Thank you.

~ INTERESTING NOTES ~

In Persuasion, Captain Wentworth is said to have earned £25,000 during his time in the Navy (Charles Musgrove states that it is £20,000 in the 1995 movie). I got to wondering just how much that is, and how, exactly, did he go about earning it?

This chapter shall serve as my appendix, if there is such a thing for a work of fiction. It will always appear after the last chapter I have written, but, for now, it is not the final chapter. But I found the research rather fascinating, and so decided it might be of interest to others beyond myself, so I have decided to share this with you. I found that it helped give a greater understanding to some of the events in Jane Austen's stories, and I hope that it does the same for you.

ROYAL NAVY PRIZE MONEY

Essentially, when an enemy ship was captured, the Crown "bought" the ship and its cargo at a fair market price determined by the Admiralty Prize Court, and the proceeds were divided among the members of the crew. The prize money each crew member received could amount to a full years' pay or more, so even when cannons were developed that could sink a ship from a safe distance, many crews still preferred boarding a ship for hand-to-hand combat to keep the enemy ship from sinking so that they might get the prize money.

WHO GETS HOW MUCH?

There was a strict formula for the distribution of the prize money:

Two-Eighths: this went to the Captain of the capturing ship, divided equally among all Captains involved. All ships in sight of the capture shared the prize as it was thought that the presence of the additional ships encouraged the enemy to surrender before the ship sank.

One-Eighth: went to the Admiral or Commander-in-Chief who signed the ship's written orders. If the orders came directly from the Admiralty in London, this portion went to the Captain(s).

One-Eighth: Lieutenants, Sailing Mates, Captain of the Marines

One-Eighth: Wardroom Warrant Officers (surgeon, purser, chaplain), Standing Warrant Officers (carpenter, boatswain, gunner), Lieutenant of the Marines, Master's Mates

One-Eighth: Junior Warrant Officers and Petty Officers and their mates, Sergeants of the Marines, Captain's Clerk, Surgeon's Mates, Midshipmen

Two-Eighths: Divided among the rest of the crew, with ablemen and specialists receiving larger shares than landsmen, seamen, and boys

HOW MUCH IS AN ENEMY SHIP WORTH?

The article I read provided numbers for a few captured ships. The examples were for ships captured from the late 1700's through the early 1800's, but I have used the numbers as if the ships had been captured in 1814, the year that Anne and Frederick meet again.

I first converted the original prize amount, given in British Pounds, from 1814 British Pounds to 2011 British Pounds (the latest data available in the converter program I used); I then used that number to convert to 2011 U.S. Dollars. This is not meant to be scientific or exact; it is just meant to provide a general idea of the wealth of some of our favorite literary characters.

Hermione

Total Prize: £260,000  
-£ 2011: £16,416,148  
-$ 2011: $25,233,900

2 Captains Each Received: £65,000  
-£ 2011: £4,104,037  
-$ 2011: $6,308,480

Each Seaman Received: £484  
-£ 2011: £30,559  
-$ 2011: $46,973

San Rafael

Total Prize: £208,000  
-£ 2011: £13,132,918  
-$ 2011: $20,187,100

Captain Received: £52,000  
-£ 2011: £3,283,229  
-$ 2011: $5,046,780

Thetis & Santa Brigada

Total Prize: £652,000  
-£ 2011: £41,166,648  
-$ 2011: $63,278,900

4 Captains Each Received: £40,730  
-£ 2011: £2,571,652  
-$ 2011: $3,952,990

Each Seaman Received: £182 (10 years' pay)  
-£ 2011: £11,491  
-$ 2011: $17,663

Captain Wentworth's fortune: £20,000

£ 2011: £1,262,780  
$ 2011: $1,948,746

Captain Wentworth's fortune: £25,000

£ 2011: £1,397,520  
$ 2011: $2,170,740

I found all of this quite interesting because I had no idea exactly what £20,000 pounds was worth, especially since I use U.S. dollars. (It also helps me understand exactly how wealthy Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are in Pride & Prejudice.) So I'm guessing that Captain Wentworth was party to several multiple-ship captures of lower-valued ships, but a million+ pounds or dollars (in modern money), is still quite a bit, and pennies went a lot further then than they do now, so considering Cost of Living Adjustments, he was probably richer than the numbers imply.

MY SOURCES:

"Royal Navy Prize Money": wiki/Prize_money

What's The Cost website: . ; used to convert 1814 British Pounds to 2011 British Pounds

Oanda: currency/converter/; used to convert 2011 British Pounds to U.S. Dollars


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